


Mega-Snake

by helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account



Series: Teh Winchesters [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Past Abuse, Prostate Milking, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 67,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenas_bitch/pseuds/Helenas_bitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's big, it's bad, and it bites!</i><br/>If only life were so simple, but it never is; not for the Winchesters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title and tagline from the summary are taken from the movie 'Mega-Snake'. Neither of the authors has watched it, nor do they know anyone who has.
> 
> This, like the rest of the series is RPG-fic.
> 
> Additional warnings for temporary prostate swelling along with physically impossible amounts of orgasms and fluids brought on by monster-exposure.

The hunt hadn't been going according to plan, not that they had more than bare bones to go on. Amongst lazy rivers and backwater tributaries of South Carolina, people had been dying at a faster pace than usual, turning up dead and bloated in the water. Crime scene investigation had ruled those deaths as drownings, some after assault and in all cases, there were strange, wide ligature marks on the victims' limbs and traces of an unknown semi-transparent liquid substance found in their mouths, sometimes noses. 

Or, alternately, as the local papers tried to modestly downplay some of the stranger aspects, being admitted to area hospitals for emergency treatment of what Dean suspected to be the side effects of marathon sex. Half of them didn't make it. There were, foremost, the abrasions. Bites and bruises and sometimes even sores if it went on for long. Dehydration, electrolyte imbalance, low blood sugar – all of that pointed to a disregard for anything but copulation for a significant period of time. They also evidenced the same marks and more copious amounts of the not-saliva, not-semen, non-human secretion in any variety of places. It seemed to be worse for the women; a higher percentage were found drowned rather than... infected, spelled, hexed, or whatever that led them down the so-called garden path.

Sure, they'd hunted incubi and succubi, but this was something else. Rather than draining the targets slowly of life force, health, and the will to live, whatever monster this thing was either killed outright, or infected the people who came in contact with it with an unnaturally potent libido, and apparently no self-control.

Silly average Joes. Just ask him what it felt like to want it all the fucking time. He still managed to kick ass, kill monsters, and solve cases that no one in the world of normality even saw, much less understood, didn't he?

Luckily, he and Sam both had outlets now – each other. Dean wondered, as he drove southeast on through the night, what sort of mess he and Sam would land in this time. First things first, though. Toward dawn, they checked into an old motel at the edge of a small town and hit their research hard.

* * *

Although he had no problem sleeping in the car with Dean at the wheel, Sam stayed awake. He could never get enough of secretly watching his brother. It was rare that Dean was so relaxed except when he was driving. Their latest hunts had been clustered in Kansas where neither of them felt comfortable, but as soon as they'd saved a town from the monster-of-the-day, another had reared its head in the neighboring county. When Dean had gotten more and more annoyed with the minor nuisances they'd had to deal with for weeks, Sam had sworn to himself that he'd find a big nasty – at any location that was at least 800 miles away.

He'd struck gold in South Carolina where several small towns near the southern end of Lake Marion and the northern end of Lake Moultrie had reported what appeared to be accidental deaths only at a first look. He and Dean had analyzed what they could find on the net and even if their inner alarms hadn't flashed bright red, they would probably have gone for it: anything was better than village-hopping in Kansas. Furthermore, it didn't sound like anything they'd ever come across before. Since their skills hadn't really been tested recently, they both welcomed the challenge.

For once, they had some money – credit cards that weren't maxed out yet – and were well-stocked on ammo and anything else they might need. The Impala purred and Dean was happily driving her. Sam wasn't surprised when Dean denied his offer to take over. Instead of going to sleep as Dean recommended, however, Sam was content to stay awake and watch his brother. 

The sun hadn't risen yet, although there was already an orange glow in the east announcing the day, when they checked into their motel. Despite being used to all sorts of tacky surroundings, Sam gasped when he unlocked the door. The wallpaper was a blue-green nightmare featuring alligators and snakes – at least that's what Sam thought they were if he ignored everything he'd learned in biology class about those animals.

"Welcome to Bumfuck Bay – sorry, Bulltown Bay, of course. How could I confuse the two?" Sam snorted. "At least, if this place is as boring as it sounds we shouldn't have much trouble with the population." 

Stiff and a little sore after the hours in the Impala, Sam stretched and let out a huge yawn. "Dude, I'm bushed. How about we catch some sleep before we get on the case?"

* * *

Over the years, Dean slept less and less but Sam had a point. They'd been on the road for fourteen hours, only stopping for gas, to grab a bite or for a piss, and before that, they'd been wrapping up the last hunt, a fairly routine haunting, but for for the fact that there had been a rash of them for weeks, near the Kansas-Oklahoma border. Suddenly more hours parked in front of a laptop or ass-deep in old dusty books didn't look so appealing. 

They hauled in the essentials – duffels with their clothes and personal belongings, Sam's laptop bag, weapons that would need cleaning or sharpening. They'd perused the 'Net and talked some about it, so far, neither he nor Sam had any idea what they were looking for. Since it seemed to like water, between them they'd considered harpies, sirens, merfolk, selkies, and that it might just be the local fauna. Then they'd ruled out every idea, one at a time. It was possible there'd be some helpful reference in Dad's journal or the volumes of esoteria Bobby lent them, and he brought those in, too. Really, they wouldn't find out much more without talking to the vics, anyway, and it was hours too early for that.

As usual, the room decor was hideously garish, the wallpaper a watery-amphibious miasma. The bedspreads were teal-green satin, and apparently fishing net was the accent material of choice – there were long swags of it draped around the ceiling. He'd seen worse. They'd once stayed in a place – the Longhorn Inn – that had gone way overboard with literal and accessorized in everything from coat- and towel racks to drawer pulls to headboards with the – long horns – of the Texas cattle of the same name. Dean rolled his eyes at the memory.

"You know, for once you might be right," he winked, yawned, then rubbed at his dry, sandy eyes. Door firmly shut and locked behind then, he went on, "Although I suspect you just want to get laid. Felt your eyes on me for hours, Sammy. You wanna put your hands on me, I'm guessing." It wasn't a question. "Pleasure – then rest – before work?" 

* * *

Sam grinned. "My eyes, my hands, and maybe my mouth, you mean?" He adjusted his swelling dick in his pants. "And then maybe you could give me a hand, too. Make me forget the atrocious surroundings." He yawned. 

Unbuttoning his shirt, Sam shrugged out of it, then pulled his tee off over his head. His hand on the fly, he winked at Dean and shook his butt, leering, "Like what you see?"

* * *

"Something like that." In private, Sam had never been shy, not about this. Dean appreciated not having to guess about what he wanted, or didn't, in bed. Or, on car. Or, over table. "Hands and mouths works for me." 

As Sam started to undress, making a show it of, Dean considered their recent sexual history. Perhaps as a coping mechanism for being in their home state or just because they wanted it, the sojourn across Kansas had been accompanied by more fucking than they usually allowed themselves while on a hunt. He never considered that Sam would prefer oral when he was getting banged on a regular basis, but that was more or less what he'd just been told. Maybe his ass was sore. If so, he'd have fun treating it with soothing ointment. Anyway, Dean was happy to worship his brother with his mouth. Very happy. That thought and the appearance of Sam's torso, miles of skin and tight muscle, as well as the growing bulge under his zipper, sent Dean's blood rushing south.

Kicking off his boots, he stalked across the room. "Hell yeah, I like it. See what I mean?" Dean yanked up his shirts, removed Sam's hand from where it rested on his fly and pressed it to his own twitchy, filling dick, groaning at the warmth of his brother's fingers. Just the first touch had him salivating, pushing his hips forward. He wound an arm around Sam's waist and caressed the stiffening length of him under denim. Yeah, it grew, both in bulk and hardness, and the way Sam looked at him, like Dean was the star of every single one of his wet dreams, was even more of a turn-on. He rutted against Sam's hand again and tilted his face up. They hadn't kissed yet, but already his lips felt swollen. A second later, Sam's half-lidded eyes followed his thoughts there, and Dean flicked his tongue out across his lower lip, then the upper. 

"C'mon, baby, you know what to do..." he purred. He worked Sam's brown leather belt open with one hand, popped the button below. The flat surface of Sam's belly trembled when he laid his palm on it, right above the waistband of his low-riding jeans, the hairs of his love-line scratching against the millions of nerve ending. 

"Want me to touch it?" 

* * *

Sam couldn't suppress a moan when he felt the heat and hardness of Dean's erection under his palm. "Yeah, I see what you mean," he said hoarsely. "But I still want to _see_ – if _you see_ what _I mean!"_

Dean rubbed against Sam's palm and at the same time he kneaded Sam's erection. The look on Dean's face was priceless, and Sam couldn't decide whether his brother's tongue's ghosting over the plush lips was deliberate or an unconscious expression of Dean's desire. Whichever it was, it didn't fail to send a bolt of lust down to his groin, and he pressed against the clever hand working on his bulge.

"Fuck, yeah," he groaned as his lips claimed Dean's. Sam didn't hold back; he stabbed his tongue into Dean's mouth where it met with its counterpart. Dean didn't submit, however, and for a few minutes they stood in the room, rutting against each other's hands while their tongues fought a fierce battle.

"Shit, Dean," Sam panted when they broke the kiss and Dean's hand wandered to Sam's belt, loosened it and undid the button. "I'll fucking kill you if you don't touch it soon!"

* * *

"Sure," breathed Dean between kisses, "you can see it." Sam's tongue swirled against his; their lips sealed by suction, then slid apart with a wet smack, then sealed again. God, the taste of him! The sweetness of the cola he'd drunk and just Sam. Dean ran his hand up the dips and bumps of his spine, into the soft silky strands at the back of Sam's head, fisting them, and lashed against the invading tongue with his own. 

"Eager much?" he mocked when Sam threatened his life – not for real, of course. The zipper presented a bit of a struggle for just one hand, as the erection below was already about to burst through the teeth of it. Dean pulled the tab, letting the force of it do most of the work. Underneath, Sam wore black boxer briefs which now pushed through the open vee of his fly, the long, thick line of his dick obvious through the stretchy material. Without ceremony, Dean sprung the throbbing flesh free and dropped to his knees, dragging his tongue down Sam's neck, over one nipple, and down across his belly. 

The scent of arousal, a mix of pheromones, sweat, and precome, clogged his senses. Dean licked at the wet purple tip where it peeked out from the foreskin, which he peeled back slowly. Droplets of sweetness smeared onto his tongue, and he searched for the source, wiggling his tongue-tip into the slit while Sam whined above him. His own junk wasn't pleased at the interruption but Dean didn't care. If he didn't cream his pants, he knew Sam would take care of him later. 

Grasping Sam's dick around the base, he swallowed as much of it as he could take. Dean was an accomplished cock-sucker by now, and he prided himself on it. He worked the head in and out of his throat, teasing the heavy sacs below with erratic squeezes. Hampered by his jeans, Sam already was trying to spread his legs. Dean grinned, and slurped with his pull back, all the way to the ridge, his lips bringing that little cowl of skin along.

* * *

Dean promised that Sam could see, but when the older Winchester started unzipping him, getting his hands – not only his eyes ?– on Dean's dick suddenly came only second on his to-do list. Dean was usually very dextrous, even single-handedly, but maybe his limb coordination was now hampered by arousal. By the time, Dean finally managed to pull the tab down, Sam was getting desperate to have his dick and balls touched.

Dean did him one better than only touching: he slowly went down on his knees before Sam, and then he went down on Sam's dick. Sam's knees buckled at the first soft laps to his glans. Slowly, so slowly, Dean exposed the sensitive head and tickled the leaking slit with his tongue. Already, Sam's hips moved forward without him consciously doing it. He whined and gasped – why didn't his brother get the message and get on with it?

Just as he was about to open his mouth, Dean took him deep and swallowed him down. "Yes, yes," Sam whispered feverishly as every nerve ending was stimulated, firing shock waves up his spine and turning his brain to mush. After just a few in-out moves under Dean's incredible suction, Sam was reduced to a moaning mess. Dean's hands had wandered from Sam's chest to his balls, which Sam _really_ appreciated, and he brought his own hands up now: one, he stuffed into his mouth to muffle the ecstatic cries he knew he'd let out shortly, and the other one to worry his nipple.

He tried to widen his stance but his jeans stopped the attempt. Somehow, being kind of tied up even enhanced the pleasure although Sam wasn't sure he was ready to admit it. Dean pulled back, sucking and licking his foreskin back over the head, and Sam shuddered as his balls drew up and tightened impossibly. 

"Gods, Dean, yes," he ground out in a harsh voice around his fist. "Gonna... gonna... Oh yeeeess!!!! Dean! Dean! Deeeeaannnnnn!!!!"

* * *

With his mouth stuffed full and throat wedged open but filled with Sam's fat cockhead, Dean couldn't give words of encouragement, so he just hummed around it. Every time he glanced up through watering eyes, the landscape changed as his brother snapped his hips and bit his own hand as a gag, tweaking his dark-rose nipple in rough pinches. On Sam, sex looked a lot like pain, curled upper lip and squinched-shut eyes, and Dean loved that, the ounce of pleasure-pain. Under Dean's chin, Sam's balls hardened till they felt like oversized lead shot, heavy and dense. Dean would have sworn the natural scent grew thicker and muskier the closer Sam got to his release. _Hmmmm..._ As the twin glands pulled up tight to his body, Dean rolled them in his palm, tugging and squeezing lightly to draw it out. 

Sam wasn't going to last, and that was fine – Dean wanted to finish him off fast and dirty, make him scream and lose it. Only, teasing him, making him wait, would make his orgasm a brain-melting implosion, so he placed loving licks all over the crown, into the fissure, easing the foreskin up and back with lips and suction. _HMmmmm..._ Pre-come trickled into his mouth, always so much with this boy, sweet and tangy, and Dean slurped it all down. Every excitable bit between his own legs was erect, hard, on edge, too, jerking and leaking at the increasing ecstatic noises till his boxers were hot and damp around the sticky tip and his nuts felt strangled. Taking a deep breath, Dean hummed like it was his salvation, circled his lips as tight around the shaft as he could, bobbing his head: Up and down, up and down, swallow, suck, smack, over and over. Every sign said they were down to the wire. Sam tried to caution him, and then just wailed his name. 

Just as the dam burst, Dean reached behind Sam's balls pressed two spit-slicked fingers down against his perineum, and further, up between his ass cheeks to the hidden little pucker. Shot after shot of hot, bitter cum flooded Dean's oral cavity, all over his tongue and through his molars, everywhere, while Sam humped his face in erratic jabs till he was spent, only dribbling. Dean swallowed, looking up through wet lashes because he needed to see it, how Sam broke and came, all for him, because of him. Slack lips, pinprick nipples, balls that had nearly crawled up into their former residences but starting to drop again, sweat-sheened impressive bare torso, and those _sounds..._ Finally pulling off, he grabbed Sam, who was panting like he'd run miles, thighs trembling, before he could collapse and hit his head on the nearby chest of drawers..

"God, Sammy, that was hot... Shoulda seen yourself, you nearly ripped your jeans trying to spread your legs for me... Maybe next time." On his feet now, Dean shoved his own clothes off and dragged his afterglowing brother over to the bed. "Want your hand, baby, because I wanna be kissing you when I cream all over you." 

* * *

If not for Dean's strong hands, Sam wouldn't have made it to the bed. He was shaking all over, feeling boneless from the powerful release. Watching his brother undress hurriedly, Sam knew that Dean wouldn't appreciate slow and gentle: Dean needed to get off.

As soon as they'd laid down on the bed, Sam wrestled Dean onto his back, then crawled half-way on top of him so that his hand had free access to Dean's erection but he could also pin him down with his body. He'd recovered his strength and couldn't wait to make Dean lose it.

"Here's my hand, baby," he said as he wrapped his large hand first around the leaking tip, spreading the copious fluids, then sliding it down. "It fits you perfectly," he added and started stroking Dean fast and a little rougher than he usually would, knowing that Dean would tell him if it was too harsh. 

"I'll make sure you're gonna blast your cream all over me," Sam continued talking in a dirty voice. "Can't wait for it, I bet you're gonna cum as fast as a teenager." He slowed down his strokes for a second as he made sure he had Dean pinned securely to the mattress, milking him firmly.

"So, you wanna kiss me, you said. Go on, then." Sam's lips hovered over his brother's, waiting to claim and be claimed.

* * *

Once they were horizontal, Sam got a second wind and wrestled Dean onto his back, curling a huge paw around his dick. Face directly above Dean's and the upper half of body pinning Dean down, Sam smeared strings of slick pre-come all over as he stroked. 

"Oh, god, I can't wait...!" Dean choked. He grabbed Sam by the hair and pulled his mouth down when offered, kissing up into it, sucking and licking while his lower body arched off the bed. Every stroke pulled him closer, every slide of Sam's tongue. He groaned wordlessly, while his pelvis pitched and bucked against Sam's fist. Shoulders held down fast, Dean tossed his legs outward and pushed up into the wonderful fist – Sam knew exactly how tight to grasp to make the skin of his dick move a little over the inner structures while working him unmercifully. 

Air – he needed air, his lungs burned because Dean couldn't get enough of staring into Sam's keen hazel-green eyes while chasing his orgasm and sparring tongue-to-tongue. "Sam!" he gasped as soon as he'd had a gulp of oxygen, "gonna cum... gonna... Nnnnggrrrrh..." Dean pulled his brother into another hard kiss that nearly split his lip. His hips thrust faster and faster while Sam's hand flew up and down, making him... 

His scream was only muffled because their kiss sealed it between them. Dean's aching, stinging balls let go and he spurted load after load on Sam's stomach. His body and his lover's fist milked it out of him, every drop and ooze, till he hurt from the depth of the release. "Loved it, Sammy... Love you..." 

* * *

Not for the first time Sam drank his brother's reaction in as if he were a man dying of thirst. Dean's raw need never failed to raise his awe. It was so often the other way round, with Dean putting Sam's pleasure first, but whenever Dean let himself open up to the point where he actually begged Sam to make him cum, Sam felt strong and powerful that he, and only he, could give this to his brother.

"Don't wait, then," he rasped against Dean's lips when they broke their fiery kiss for a gasp of air. "Go on, Dean, cum for me!" Sam plunged his tongue deep into Dean's mouth, licking his teeth, gums, palate, until he re-engaged in the fierce battle their tongues had fought before. At the same time, he increased the speed and pressure of his hand until the body under him began to shake and he knew that Dean was going to shoot.

Dean's announcement that he'd reached the peak made Sam kiss him even deeper, muffling his brother's screams of completion. Sam continued to work him hard until he was sure that Dean's balls were so drained that they'd probably keep throbbing in a dull ache for the remainder of the day.

Easing up on the kiss and pulling his weight off, Sam grinned when Dean attempted to speak. Being told that Dean had loved 'it', that Dean loved him never hurt, and he'd be able to discern these words regardless how mumbled they were.

"I know, man, and the feeling's mutual," Sam said softly and rubbed his nose against Dean's, who twitched and turned his head. "Ah, oversensitive everywhere, huh?" Sam chuckled knowingly; Dean could make him cum so hard that Sam had a good idea how his brother was feeling.

"Stay put," he said, "and lemme get you cleaned up." Sam went to the bathroom – which had a decor that would have made a botanist sick with its water lilies and twiners in screaming colors – wet a towel and returned to the bed to wipe his brother clean. Still lost in the afterglow, Dean let everything happen.

"You know, I believe that you really loved it," Sam teased as he stretched out on the bed next to him. He yawned. "So. Do you want me to sleep here with you or should I fuck off to my bed?"

* * *

Blinking slowly, Dean drifted in and out of consciousness, sated and high off the endorphin rush, while Sam slid away, came back with a warm, wet cloth and cleaned him. The wet rag found its way into every little wrinkle of his sac, underneath it, zinged over the softening shaft of his cock, till all the spit and pre and semen was washed away. So relaxed and letting out soft, tiny grunts, Dean tried not to zone out on that awful wallpaper. 

After so many years of not being able to touch Sam, to share their love, in the past, every time they expressed it now was a gift. And he'd never have accepted aftercare from anyone else. There was that little twinge that it should've been him taking care of Sam, or that he should have done... whatever to blow his brother's mind – and body – so thoroughly his state matched Dean's. Well, maybe next time. 

"Thanks, man. Do you have another cloth so I can wash your junk extra-lovingly, as well?" Dean flashed a cocky grin, having recovered a little. "That's right, you were gonna take a shower. Too bad. I wouldn't tell you to fuck off if you, uh, need me, but we'll sleep better in our own beds." 

By 'need', Dean meant for other than sex. Sam had occasional nightmares, and he was more inclined to want the comforting reassurance of another body. It was just fact: a queen-sized bed was still too small for Sam, much less both of them, and his body heat rose to what had to be several degrees above normal when he slept. Dean had gotten used to it, but when they hunted, they mostly slept alone. "I'll shower when we wake up." Dean decided to sleep naked, but he did retrieve his buck knife and gun for under his pillow before sliding under the covers. "Up to you if you wanna crawl in or not, but I'm gonna crash." Yawning, he punched one of the pillows on the bed a couple of times, rolled to his side, and waited for Sam to head for the bathroom. 

* * *

Sam yawned, then nodded. "I agree. If I stay in your bed, we wouldn't get much sleep," he winked. "Not that I'd mind, but I don't wanna risk you getting injured because I'm too tired during a hunt. So..." He yawned again. "Don't worry about cleaning me. I'll just go for a quick wash and you can pass out whenever you're ready." He didn't doubt that Dean would be asleep before Sam even reached the bathroom.

He proceeded to the shower. His male parts were mostly clean – Dean had given him a loving tongue bath, after all – but he tended to sweat a lot and it felt good to have the grime of the day in the car scrubbed off his skin.

When Sam let himself fall on his bed, Dean was out, as he'd expected. After making sure that he had his basic weapons ready – knife, gun, and holy water would have to do for tonight – he closed his eyes.

It was broad daylight when he opened them again. Dean was still sleeping, looking adorable with his slightly scrunched-up face half-buried in the pillow. Not that Sam would ever tell his brother that he looked adorable in his sleep, but watching him for a minute wouldn't hurt him. 

One minute stretched to two, then three, then four. Just when Sam decided that he'd _really_ stop watching, Dean's eyes sprang open and met his. Suddenly wondering if Dean had been noticing being stared at all the time, Sam jumped to his feet and blushed.

"Coffee?"

* * *

Dean awoke with the awareness that Sam was nearby; while he couldn't hear his breathing, the peripheral sense of 'Sam' was present. He left his eyes closed for the moment. It was mid-morning, by the level of light filtering through his eyelids. He waited for movement from his brother, taking inventory of himself. No clothes under the sheets – check. Weapons at hand – check. Morning wood – check. The itchy feeling that he was being watched prickled his skin. 

No use dawdling. Dean snapped his eyes open... to Sam staring at his face. Like he hadn't seen him in years, or was about to draw him or something. "Like that's not creepy," Dean smirked. Flustered, Sam jumped up and offered coffee. He could think on his feet, whatever was going on in his head. "And if you think I'm cute when I'm sleeping..." He tossed the covers off and bounced off the bed, strolling to the bathroom for his morning pee and to get cleaned up. In the cooler room air, his nipples perked up, and his hard-on bobbed and swayed. Sam's eyes followed him, caressing his backside. 

Freshly showered, Dean hurriedly dressed in his fake-FBI suit and gathered his supplies, leaving his bag in the room for later. No doubt they'd be here a few days, since they really didn't know what they were looking for. "Alright, ready. Not motel coffee, please!" That was always the worst of the worst, and came in varieties between swill and battery acid. "And then we should get a list of names together, to start the interviews." Their fake badges were in the Impala, and he and Sam each found one to tuck into the inside jacket pockets. Starting the car, Dean pulled onto the main drag, in search of caffeine. 

* * *

Sam blushed even more when he realized that Dean had seen right through him. He was relieved that his brother stepped into the shower before Sam had to stammer out a reply that, yes, indeed, he considered Dean cute. And hot. The way his nipples tightened when Dean felt chilled – which he did much more often than Sam – and the stiff rod of his erection made Sam salivate. 

However, they had no time for that right now. Dean was not only cute when asleep, but also quick when the urge for a caffeine fix hit him. "No, totally right, no motel coffee," Sam hurried to agree. He, too, got dressed, feeling like a monkey in the polyester suit with too short legs and sleeves. It couldn't be helped, but he was already looking forward to the evening when he could take the uncomfortable garment off. Also, Dean would probably allow or even demand that Sam undress him...

Right, no time for that. Sam coughed as he followed Dean out to the Impala, grinning at the happy and fond look that spread on his brother's face when they approached the car. Sometimes, Sam thought he witnessed an aborted caressing move of Dean's hand over her hood, but today a look was all Dean's 'Baby' got.

Dean started her and began to drive, checking out the left side of the road for a place where they'd find a half-way decent breakfast. It was Sam who spotted an IHOP on the right side, and he punched Dean's arm lightly.

"How about over there?" He jerked his head to the right. "Not sure they serve pig in a poke, but you could always begin the day with a bacon cheeseburger."

* * *

"Good call. But hey, what's wrong with bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast?" Dean demanded. "You can have your girly stuff, like French crepes or a veggie omelet." He pulled into the lot, stomach rumbling, and grabbed their father's journal before getting out of the car. They entered the restaurant where a vaguely pretty hostess sat them in a booth along the outside wall, and got started on mainlining coffee. Dean had taken the seat facing the door and he perused the place thoroughly, wondering if any of the other customers were involved with the case. 

Bouncing ideas over food was par for the course for Winchesters. Their dad had always done a lot of research at the table, and they did, too. Dean knew that they'd have to talk to witnesses, but it didn't hurt to start with some preliminary supposition. 

"Last night, or early this morning while we were still on the road, I gave some more thought to what we're hunting. Being there've been a bunch of drownings and they're all in the rivers or lakes, it has to be something aquatic, or amphibious. And, some people got ganked by strangulation, non-water related. Other than the ones who seem to have," he coughed and said under his breath, "fornicated themselves to death." Then, in a normal voice, "We already nixed a bunch of stuff but what does that even leave? Something we've never dealt with, that's what." 

Plunking the worn, leather-covered notebook on the table, Dean started flipping pages. "I know we've been over this and nothing, but I'm looking again. You come up with anything?"

* * *

While Dean dug around in Dad's notebook, Sam switched on his laptop. He was still waiting for it to boot up when the food arrived. Momentarily distracted by the delicious scent of his pancakes, he frowned when he noticed that there was something wrong with his computer, which showed only a blue screen. He pressed a key and nothing happened. Then he pressed the power switch, and again nothing happened.

"Looks like I have a problem," he told his brother with a frown. "The famous blue screen of death. Does this thing we're hunting strangle also computers and not only people?" He closed the laptop and stared at it. "So, no, I got nothing new except that I'll need to find a computer shop."

He sighed. "Let's start interviewing after breakfast. So far nobody seems to have connected the events, but maybe we'll find a common denominator to hint at whatever may be behind this. Or we could split up later and you continue the interviews while I try to have someone figure out what's wrong with this thing." Sam nodded toward the laptop that sat innocently on the bench next to him.

* * *

"That sucks. Good luck finding a geek store around here. Probably have to drive into Charleston. You could ask around... Maybe there's some local who knows how to fix it." Dean frowned. He didn't want to split up, really. They worked better as a team. He used a touch of arrogance and impatience, applied the pressure while Sam played the sympathetic, understanding one, all the while prying little details out of people that they never meant to reveal. Dean could read people just fine, but getting them to talk was another matter. Oh, well. He'd just have to keep to the young or desperate ones – he could play that angle. Flirt a little. 

Finishing the last bite of his cheeseburger, Dean wiped his hands and mouth on the paper napkin. "Let's go bother the fuzz first, Agent Scully." He flashed Sam his best shit-eating grin and slid out of the booth. His brother rolled his eyes and didn't grace it with a retort. 

At the front counter, he opened up the newspaper to halfway through the news section, making casual conversation in a vaguely interested tone with the hostess, while she ran the latest fake card. It was another instance of an anonymous man, late 20's, married, admitted through the emergency department two days previous for mysterious 'contusions and abrasions' with 'malaise and fatigue' after a fishing trip turned bad. The girl at the counter covertly related in a thick Southern accent that the guy was a shirt-tail relative that she'd met a few times at family reunions, and that his wife had been two grades ahead of her in school. It was as easy as letting his eyes linger two seconds longer than necessary and pulling out a little official-looking notepad and pen to get the names and street. 

Dean proceeded to the men's room to let out some of the quart of coffee he'd drunk, and Sam appeared a minute later. Because he could, Dean looked over, raised his eyebrow. "Got a lead, maybe," he announced. 

* * *

"Yeah, just our usual kind of luck," Sam sighed over his computer. "But at least you got a cheeseburger to start the day with," he perked up and grinned. Despite not having access to his main information source, Sam's mood was still good. He was on a case with Dean, and the case sounded like a challenge. As much as Sam wanted to rid the world of anything evil, he couldn't deny that the creatures they hunted often fascinated him. His mind was always eager to learn new things, figure out puzzles, and the current monster sounded like a real challenge after the everyday hauntings they'd had to deal with during the past weeks and months.

When Dean addressed him as Scully, Sam returned an eye-roll that would have made the X-Files actress – he'd forgotten her name – proud, then leaned back, sipped more coffee, and watched his brother spool off his routine with the girl at the counter. It took longer than he'd expected for Dean to pay, apparently not because their credit card was rejected but because Dean was laying the charm on – and way more than necessary, from what Sam could discern. 

This time, his frown was real. Sam wasn't annoyed with his brother for flirting – okay, he was, but then why did Dean have to chase tail all the time? When they were on a job? Wasn't Sam enough for him? – but with himself for discovering that a part of him – no, scratch that, _he, Sam,_ was jealous.

Dean pulled out his notebook and started to write in it, and now Sam no longer felt jealous but sheepish. Of course, that wasn't Dean trying to get laid as much as Dean interviewing a potential witness. When Dean gave the girl a big smile and headed for the restrooms, Sam got up and followed him. Not surprisingly, Dean immediately told him that they had a lead.

After listening, Sam suggested that they might as well start their inquiries with the wife, then check out the hospital. Now, the hospital... 

"Dean, let's think for a moment. Although it sounds unlikely that we may be dealing with two different monsters here, we do have two different types of attacks. Some vics looked as if they'd been roughed up, like, bruised, beaten, strangled. Others went down from total exhaustion after their libido went completely out of whack. The first would be a case for the police, the second for a doctor. I'm wondering if we should change our approach. FBI – it might be a bit difficult to explain why the Feds are involved at all, but we could offer our aid since we're passing through. It might be more difficult to explain why we're interested in the medical stuff."

He met his brother's eyes. "On the other hand, there's the CDC, on the basis that this particular type of exhaustion has also occurred elsewhere. At least that's what we could tell them. My gut tells me it has something to do with the environment of this region, so maybe there was an outbreak in Florida in the swamps. We'd liaise with the cops, but it would be awkward if we asked too many questions about the attacks."

Sam threw his arms up. "I dunno what to do really. And it certainly doesn't help that my computer isn't working."

* * *

"CDC, huh? More like park rangers, you ask me, what with that spit or slime or whatever they keep finding on people. That says 'creature' to me. Not like park rangers have jurisdiction over anything, so I thought the F— well, never mind. If you don't think we shouldn't be Feds, fine, we won't be Feds." Dean was a little annoyed. Sam was the brains, and outstripped Dean in IQ but did he have to point it out, however indirectly? 

Shrugging, he washed his hands in the single porcelain sink and reached for a paper towel. Restaurant restrooms, thanks to the health code, were usually decent, unlike those at most gas stations, bars, and the worst, highway rest areas. "I guess it doesn't matter – it's all fake anyway." 

When he looked over at his brother, Sam's forehead was furrowed, like it got when he was upset, his mouth turned down at the corners, and his stance was tense. "Don't get your panties in a knot. I just agreed." Then he remember the laptop. No wonder Sam wasn't happy right now. "Sorry, man, I know you're concerned about your favorite toy. If anything happened to Baby..." 

Plenty had happened to Baby, but Dean had done her right every time, and she was fine now. "I guess we're stuck with the locals. Let's find this place," Dean tapped his chest right over the notebook. It was true they were grasping at straws to some degree, but there was definitely something out of whack here and they'd gone in to cases before with less. 

It was only a ten-minute drive, and they found the place easily enough. Big white house with green trim and a porch, just like the hostess had said. Dean drove by slowly. "There it is. No lights on, but someone's home." He could see a young woman inside, half-hidden by the drape, staring blindly out the window.

* * *

"Hey, I'm not saying we must be CDC," Sam frowned. Why did Dean sound so pissed off all of a sudden? "Yeah, it's all fake, but still. I just thought choosing the best possible fake might help us during the investigations." He shrugged. "Let's be feebies then." 

Violence and brutality, strange medical conditions, slime and ooze, what the heck was this anyway? Nothing about it made any sense, however they turned it. Sam really needed his computer back in working order, but Dean was right that it would be hard – if not impossible – to find a repair place here.

First of all, though, they'd follow the lead Dean had obtained from the waitress. By the time Dean pulled up in front of the house and informed him that someone was at home, Sam thought that interviewing local people would also give him an opportunity to ask about someone who could fix his laptop.

"So, we're about to talk to a recently bereaved young woman," he said. "Who do you reckon she'll respond to more? Your sex appeal or my compassion?"

* * *

Dean could see that Sam was confused over him pushing back on which agency to pretend they were from. He felt a small flush of victory, then a minor sting of something he couldn't name. Their whole lives, they'd been brothers, competitive and forever trying to one-up each other. But they were also lovers, partners, and sometimes so besotted with each other they went for days without the slightest argument. And sometimes, like right now, the slippery line between the two made him a little queasy. 

"Bereaved? No, not in the traditional sense, anyway. This lady's husband was another of those 'admitted through the ER' things, very sketchy on the details. You can take point. Something tells me she's not gonna want sex right now." Fine sop to his conscience, but that was too bad. 

Dean parked in front of the house along the sidewalk and got out. Already the humidity in the air was making his button-down shirt stick to his back, under the jacket. They crossed the lawn, and went up the four steps to the porch. It was noticeably cooler in the shade. "'Just the facts, ma'am," he quipped, nodding at Sam to ring the doorbell. 

* * *

"Just the facts," Sam repeated and rang the bell. A few seconds later, they heard steps, and then the door was opened by a brunette who was at least a foot smaller than he was.

"Good morning, ma'am," Sam gave her his best smile – the sincere one, not the radiant one he had only for Dean. The smile she returned was tentative, so he hurried to introduce them. It was at this point that he realized that they still hadn't agreed which agency they'd represent. Also, they hadn't discussed names. Sam didn't even wear any ID, so he had to improvise, and quickly so.

"My name is Rick Parfitt, and this is my partner Francis Rossi. We're here to investigate what happened to your husband." 

He gave his brother a nervous look and swallowed. Dean would so kill him for this!

* * *

So not Dean's choice of rock star aliases, especially since he got the girlie-sounding one. Next time it was his turn to pick their pseudonyms, Sam was gonna pay. He couldn't wait to make him answer to Agent Entwhistle or Dr. Moon. Either would sound silly while breaking the theme, to add insult to injury. Dean rocked from his heels to his toes and back a couple of times while Sam handled the introductions, succeeding in getting the vic's wife, with the langorous mein of someone whose Valium dosage needed adjusting, to invite them in.

The lady of the house, Susan Bingham, had coolly informed them she preferred Mrs. Bingham to her first name, something Dean usually reserved for people at least twice his age. The place was a little too much faux-Antebellum for Dean, but he appreciated being out of the heat. Both he and Sam declined the offer of sweet tea, on the excuse of just having filled up on coffee. He looked around the room best described as a parlor, noting the usual family photos, including a wedding picture, but no recent ones of babies or children. Something seemed off about the room. He finally pinpointed it: seven mismatched scatter rugs over the champagne-colored carpet in an otherwise immaculate room, and a spiderwebbing series of cracks in the wall near the front door. 

Thus far, Sam had collected some background info on the couple, making a few notes. The story confirmed what the hostess at IHOP had revealed. "Mrs. Bingham," Dean began, when their small talk hit a lull, "last night, before going to the hospital, did your husband display any unusual behavior, such as irritability or aggression?" 

He got a blank stare, and could see she wanted to deny it, so he pressed on, "Did that happen last night?" and pointed to the damaged wall. A long moment later, their witness admitted that was true, but didn't say anything further. Their hostess sat stiff and still at the edge of her fussy chair, hands twitching nervously. Dean noticed then there were bruises around her neck and wrists that her blouse didn't quite cover, and looked over at Sam. His brother had born similar marks from him many times. Though he didn't know her, this proper and reserved-seeming woman didn't strike him as the type. Which meant she probably wouldn't want to discuss it. 

* * *

Dean's face told Sam that he'd probably just started another round of prank wars. Right now, he didn't have the time to worry about that. In any event, he'd find a way to avenge himself for whatever his brother might plan for him.

He focused on Susan – _Mrs._ – Bingham, who let them in, behaved like the perfect hostess, and wouldn't meet his eyes when she answered his questions. Even giving them her and her husband's names seemed an effort to her, and her voice got steadily softer. She looked terrified, and as if not only her husband but also she herself had been attacked. Of whom or what she was afraid, Sam couldn't yet say, but he was confident that although it was clear that their visit made her extremely uncomfortable, they were not the actual cause of her fear.

Dean took over and Sam had his first chance at a closer look at the surroundings. They matched the bruises on Mrs. Bingham's neck that the make-up couldn't conceal, and the marks on her wrists. When Dean asked about her husband showing aggression and what happened the night before, she didn't answer. Sam could see her withdrawing even further into her shell, and she attempted to pull down the sleeves of her blouse to hide the evidence.

The smiling man in the pictures had an almost uncanny resemblance to Dean. Sam thought for a second, then spoke as gently as he could. "Dean, I think that Mrs. Bingham would appreciate a glass of water." 

She looked at him with confusion on her face, but didn't say anything. Dean got the hint and went to the kitchen. The layout of the house was such that the eating area was part of the living room and only divided from the kitchen by a counter, so that Dean was still visible and within hearing distance. Sam lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Mrs. Bingham, you love your husband, and I know that he loves you. Please let me help. We're investigating several cases where individuals – husbands, mothers, loving and caring people – underwent sudden changes in personality that made them violent. We don't know what the cause is, but the more you can tell us about what happened, the sooner we will be able to help you and Phil."

Mrs. Bingham tensed, and then met his eyes for the first time. Sam thought he could see a sliver of hope in them. "I don't know what happened," she said haltingly. "He... he wasn't himself. He had..." She blushed and cast her eyes down again, squirming on the seat. Sam knew that she wouldn't be able to say it.

"He had cravings?" he suggested, and she bit her lip, then brought up her hand to cover her mouth, and nodded.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bingham," Sam said gently. "You are a very brave woman."

Dean returned with a glass of water. Sam took it from him and held it out to Mrs. Bingham who accepted it with shaking hands.

"Will you be all right on your own?" he asked her.

She forced a smile and nodded.

"May we come back if we have further questions? Of course we'll tell you what's going on as soon as we know more."

She nodded again and made to get up.

"No, please stay put. We'll find out. Thank you again, Mrs. Bingham. You've been a tremendous help." He smiled at her again and left with his brother in tow.

"So," Sam said as soon as they reached the car. "Phil had 'cravings'." He indicated quotation marks in the air. "It matches what we've read before. What we're dealing with sounds like super-Viagra with very unhealthy side effects. If I only had my computer," he sighed. "I need to check out if there's any chemical or pharmaceutical industry around here that pollutes the water with sex hormones or the likes."

* * *

Sam hadn't gotten much out of the woman other than that her husband had, as he put it, 'cravings', obviously not the sort that went along with pregnant women and strange food combinations. In fact, Sam hadn't asked anything after that, but Dean could see that Mrs. Bingham was exhausted and probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown. They walked back out to the car, discussing what to do next. Rather than get in yet, Dean leaned one hip against the door, hand idly resting on the shiny chrome handle, thumb stroking the smooth indent of the button. 

He wondered how he'd feel in her place, if Sam got infected with "Super-Viagra", as he put it. Hell, he'd probably love it... at least the first five or six times. After that he'd be shooting blanks and his dick would be sore as hell. Or, hm, maybe Sam would... No. Years previous, he'd swore to himself that never again would he be ass-up, and he'd meant it. When money got tight, if he couldn't hustle pool or cards he'd been known to give hand jobs and blow jobs, but even that stopped when Sam returned from Stanford. After their first time, Dean had confessed to Sam what had been done to him, and why he would probably never be able to give himself in that way, and Sam hadn't bitched about it, not once. Only, now, everything had changed – he and Sam were together, they were in love, they'd done everything else, and he trusted his little brother with his life so why not....? He'd jerked off to the concept more than once; it felt so dirty. Butt-sex or not, Sam was shining love and some sort of purity Dean hadn't had since he was 13. Involuntarily clenching his hole, Dean shoved the thought away.

"Well then, you should get that laptop looked at right away. We'll need to know where to start looking for this thing, besides 'the river' or 'the lake'," Dean said slowly. "Meanwhile, drop me off at the local library and I'll look into that industrial waste thing, or whatever I can find. If we can locate an epicenter, we can work our way out from there." Small towns had notoriously unhelpful libraries, but at least they should have the Internet. Scratching the back of his neck, Dean added, "I had a theory, too, but only if we can pinpoint a species. Maybe it's some kind of venom."

Sam was fidgeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Either he had to pee or he disagreed with Dean's course of action. "Here," Dean fished the keys out of his pocket. "You might as well drive... Agent Parfitt." In a very bad fake British accent, he added, "Yeh Limey bastard."

* * *

"Poor girl," Sam commented when they left the house. Dean didn't answer, and he didn't get into the car either. Maybe he wanted to stay out in the fresh air a little longer: whereas Sam loved the summer heat and didn't mind the high humidity in the Carolinas, he knew that Dean wasn't happy with this kind of climate. Sam would have to watch Dean; his brother tended to get nasty headaches from the moist heat, which made him irritable and sometimes outright bitchy.

Sam felt tempted to point out that having AC in the car wouldn't hurt, but it would probably be his last suggestion ever.

"Yeah, the laptop," he sighed. "I meant to ask her about a geek shop, but, well, I meant to ask her lots of things. Introducing ourselves with the local fuzz by calling 911 for giving her a nervous breakdown would have made a bad impression, though. Also, I don't think she knows much. Library sounds good, but shouldn't we try to talk to Phil – sorry, _Mister_ – Bingham in the hospital first? Maybe he can give us an angle we haven't considered yet."

He thought for a moment. "I like the venom idea, but it has the same flaw as the disease theory as neither can explain the contusions found on the victims. What I've seen so far didn't look self-inflicted." Sam grimaced. "Unless it's people, not monsters. Some nutjob who beats others up then infects or poisons them. But where would the poison come from? None of this makes any sense."

Dean still didn't make any move to get into the car, and Sam got impatient. Why were they still standing here, talking over the hood of the Impala instead of in it... His eyes fell on his brother's crotch and he flinched. Either Dean had tucked himself away awkwardly or he had a boner, and whichever it was, it caused an immediate reaction in Sam's pants. He shifted his weight nervously. Dean seemed to notice something was wrong and threw him the key and a couple of comments. Agent Parfitt. Right. He'd known he wouldn't get away with that.

"So," Sam decidedly ignored the quip, "where do we go now? Library? Hospital? Cop shop?"

* * *

"Hospital. Let's go see what _Mister_ Bingham can tell us about his cravings," Dean decided. "Then you can drop me off at the library later. This dude is our best chance of learning anything about what's attacking people."

Sam caught the keys when Dean tossed them across the hood, hand flicking up in one quick, sure motion to intercept the flying, interconnected metal pieces. His jacket lifted, showing the lean, strong lines of his body, and a semi, by the looks of it, behind his fly. Knowing his brother's body intimately, Dean noted how the thick head was pushing up and out, displacing the fabric enough that he could make out the contours of Sam's balls, below. It was only then, as he reached to adjust himself, that Dean noticed how hard he himself was. His dick angled painfully, almost fully erect and throbbing. 

"God, Sam, sorry!" Sometimes they teased each other on jobs, but he'd always done so with intent, and not so publically. Dean ducked into the car and slammed the door shut. He had just popped wood in the street in broad daylight like a twelve-year-old. "Well, that's embarrassing," he chuckled sheepishly, when Sam also got in and started up Baby's engine. He wasn't ashamed of his body or of his dick getting hard, but it wasn't the time or place and he didn't want Sam to think he had no control. "'Don't drink the water.' Which reminds me, I had a drink of that lady's tap water so I hope there's nothing to that." 

Usually the phrase was meant as a wry acknowledgment of a rash of pregnancies. Between what they'd learned online pre-Blue-Screen-of-Death and what had just happened, Dean struggled without success to make a connection. "You know, something is just, I dunno, off. It smells funny here. I can't put my finger on what, but..." 

Dean shrugged, adding not being able to name the barely-there scent to his bitch list. They made it to the hospital inside ten minutes; he pointedly willed it to, and his boner had gone down. 

Mr. Bingham, or Phil, as he insisted, looked enough like Dean that he had to make an effort not to stare. The man was lucid, but clearly exhausted, an IV in one arm. Like his distant relation had stated at breakfast, he'd been on a fishing trip when his boat got hung up on something underwater near the shore. Phil reported that at first he'd thought it a waterlogged tree trunk or maybe a corpse – wouldn't be the first, he said. "But there was just more and more... I'd have sworn it was a snake but it was just too damned big, even for some of those that supposedly came over on the slave ships." 

Dean scribbled that little tidbit down and filed it mentally, as well. "Did it bite you, Phil? Were there any marks on you? Snakebite or otherwise?" 

The man looked away. "No. But it felt maybe like... I can't tell you, what it felt like, being touched by whatever that thing was. Then, I... I needed..." The man's tanned face colored. "Let's just say, I needed my wife."

* * *

"Don't be sorry," Sam said and winked. "Our timing is off, but I take that," he nodded toward Dean's groin, "as a compliment." He turned serious again. "You might be on to something with the water, though."

They got into the car and Sam drove them to the hospital. Phil Bingham's account of what had happened to him also suggested that whatever they were after was related to the surrounding waters. Phil told them what had happened, to the point of 'needing his wife'. He was clearly embarrassed by what he'd done. Sam noted with a sense of relief that Phil was somehow aware that his behavior had something to do with being attacked. It would make the recovery easier for him and his wife if he didn't wreck himself with guilt.

"Phil," Sam began, "I'm sorry, but I need to ask you this. Do you still feel the, um, urge? If not, do you think it stopped on its own or because of the medication you were given?"

* * *

Phil thought for a long moment. "I don't really remember. Susan called 911 because I guess I passed out. Does that mean it was over with? Out of my system, by then, yeah." The man blushed faintly. "I have a feeling I'm not going to need," he coughed, "anything for a long time." Speaking was clearly an effort; Phil hadn't moved any more than his head a small angle since they came in.

Dean nodded. He thought he'd never feel that way, but then he'd never been through what this guy had. There was no reason to ask for specifics, but he had to admit to being curious. "Have you heard about this happening to anyone else around here? There've been other people found dead, drowned, around the lakes and rivers. But what about these, uh, symptoms?" 

It was a long shot and not something people tended to talk about. "No, not really. Just rumors." 

"Such as...?" Dean asked, leaning forward. 

"It's pretty crazy. Something I heard at the bar the other night. The guy was kinda drunk, but he said his boat capsized in Lake Moultrie and he saw this huge... snake. And then, he came home and... I guess he had cravings, too. But I tuned it out, because he got kind of rude. I thought it was disrespectful to talk about his, um, boyfriend, like that." 

"Huh." Dean looked over at Sam and raised his eyebrows. "OK, I have just a couple more questions. Are there any long-time rumors or urban legends here, about, I don't know... A creature or monster or something supernatural that lives in the water? I mean, besides these recent happenings. And if so, is there someone who might know more?" 

Phil closed his eyes, and for a moment Dean thought he'd fallen asleep. The man looked enough like him to be a brother, or cousin – wider jaw, longer nose, and no freckles. Dean wondered why his wife hadn't freaked out – either she'd been too out of it to see it or her method of reacting was to clam up. Without opening his eyes, the man replied, "The Mega-snake," he slurred. "Lives in the depths... Four hundred years. Rise of the snake..." And then he _was_ out.

"Phil? Mr. Bingham?" Dean stood but he decided it better not to attempt to shake him awake. There were bruises showing under his hospital gown, and a nurse decided to poke her head in just then. 

"Gentlemen, it's time to leave," she told the brothers firmly, and they took the hint. As they walked down the long white corridor, Dean said in an aside to Sam, keeping up with his long strides, "Mega-snake! What the hell. Sounds like a porno." 

* * *

Sam laughed briefly at Dean's comment, but sobered again quickly. A porno indeed, but not an enjoyable one, neither for the victims nor for those who witnessed the resulting damage. "Some sort of fertility god or goddess in snake form?" he mused. "The origin of the famous trouser snake?" Sam shuddered at the stupid term. "I really need my computer," he sighed. "Would you wait a sec? I'll ask the nurse if she knows of a computer store anywhere near."

Dean announced that he'd wait in the car, and Sam went to talk to the petite redhead at the nurses' station. She didn't know where he could get his laptop repaired but one of the doctors who passed by to flirt with the girl suggested that Sam could ask the technician in charge of the hospital IT. He told Sam to tell the guy that 'agents Parfitt and Rossi' were investigating in an official function, and he assured Sam that the tech would help.

Sam listened to the instructions where to find the man, then he thanked the doctor and left to speak with Dean. His brother was sitting in the Impala's driver seat, looking a little spaced out and running his hand absentmindedly along the dash.

"Dean? You okay?"

* * *

"Fertility god. That would explain all the rampant 'cravings'," Dean answered, his tone slightly mocking, but kept low. "As in, fucking. What do these people do it like, once a week – lights out, doors locked, in the missionary position?" Sam just looked at him and walked off, muttering about his computer and asking about IT. 

Well, that was fine. Dean needed a break anyway, even though they'd barely begun. Instinctively he wandered outside, to the Impala. The sight of her always gave his heart a little jump-start. All muscle and growl, black-and-shiny, and _his_. Getting in, Dean took a minute to savor the slight vibration, the rumble of her idle tickling his butt and back where they met the seat. He spread his legs a little, giving his junk more needed room. Hot from the sun beating through the window, her dash was slightly dusty – they kept the windows down when driving, in this weather. Dean brushed at the smooth tan surface ineffectually, he'd need a damp cloth and not just his fingertips to take care of... 

Sam appeared in his periphery, shooting him an odd look. It wasn't the first time Dean had noticed it, but certainly the most pointed. They'd enjoyed many incredible sexy moments together in this car when they were teens, but not since they'd become a couple, beyond some random kissing and groping that always led to a bed. What Sam didn't know, but maybe he subconsciously understood, was that Dean, occasionally, during the four years they'd been separated, had tried to recapture the feelings, the scent and feel of it, in this car. He knew it wasn't normal. Obsessive, bordering on pathetic. But the times he'd allowed himself to, getting half-naked and rubbing his exposed flesh against the back seat, nose buried in the leather trying to inhale the remnant of any of Sam's leftover scent, he came so hard, sometimes screaming like he never had with anyone else or even breaking down after. He probably had himself to thank that now the scent was all him. Well, him and Baby, who never complained and simply held him till he was ready to pull away.

So, no wonder Sam was jealous. Dean smirked to himself, but only for a second. "Well?" he asked. The trembling breath he let out, he told himself, was only for the memories. 

* * *

As so often, Dean ignored his question. The expression on his face was weird, but they were on the job and had no time for talking – which Dean would refuse to do anyway.

"Well," Sam explained, "one of the Docs suggested their resident geek take a look at my computer. Do you want to come with and wait or check out the library meanwhile? I can give you a call when I'm done here if you'd rather conduct your own research. Just promise me one thing." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't go near the water without backup."

For a second, Sam wondered if he should have made his request even more explicit, namely that he, Sam, be the backup, but Dean would be annoyed enough already: Sam was sure his brother would interpret the demand as a statement that Dean was unable to deal with a monster snake – or whatever it was – on his own.

* * *

"Resident geek, right here? That's handy." Dean cleared his throat and tried for some semblance of normal conversation. "Okay then, you won't need Baby after all. I'll still hit the library, since it's nearby. You might be twenty minutes or ten times that, who knows. I might as well keep researching." It wasn't Dean's favorite activity, not by a long shot, but he was capable. 

When he looked over again, Sam was almost glaring at him with narrowed eyes. "What?" demanded Dean. What had he done now? He tended to space out or simply change the subject when Sam got going about feelings and stuff, usually – not when they were in bed. Not wanting to look stupid, he replayed the last ten seconds of his mental tape and comprehended the message. _Don't go near the water without backup._

"Oh, so you agree there's something to that, huh? Well, we don't have a boat, although I'm sure there's places that rent them out, or will just loan them since we're Feds and all." Pursing his lips, Dean finished with, "Call me as soon as you're done, okay? Or if anything else turns up. Witnesses, leads, whatever. If I'm going near the lakes or what have you, I want you backing me up, no one else." 

* * *

Sam was relieved that Dean immediately agreed to the condition. "Great," he said. "Let's hope the guy can fix my laptop quickly. I want solid intel before we go and try a closer look at that thing out there. So, talk to you in a bit, then." 

He watched Dean drive off and followed the directions he'd been given.


	2. Chapter 2

The hospital's IT department consisted of an office in the basement. When Sam entered the room he felt eerily reminded of Ash's place, but the occupant didn't show any resemblance to the hillbilly freak at the Roadhouse. 

A wiry man in his forties with short-cropped gray hair and a face that gave him a somehow rat-like appearance introduced himself as Chad. Sam was about to start his spiel about being an FBI agent working a case at the hospital when his computer froze up, but Chad waved him off impatiently and asked him to hand over the laptop.

"Hm, looks like a home invasion to me," Chad commented the frozen screen. "Let's see if we can find out where you picked it up." He reached for a screwdriver and said to Sam without looking up, "This will need some surgery."

Sam wasn't sure exactly what the guy planned to do, but he recognized how Chad removed the hard disk and attached it to another computer. A few quick keystrokes later, Chad wolf-whistled through his teeth. "Oh, you've been visiting bustyasianbeauties.com. Great site, but I hear lots of clumsy folks picked up bugs recently when they tried to gain unauthorized access to the VNSFW pics." 

He flashed Sam a wide grin. "How about I provide you some bug spray to get rid of the virus _and_ a back door to the full site? Free of charge, out of the goodness of my heart."

Sam frowned, not at all pleased to discover the source of the problem, and not trusting the offer, but Chad shook his head. "No, seriously, we busty rooters must stick together. Wait a sec..." More keystrokes and Chad disconnected the disk and screwed it back into Sam's laptop. "There. Good as new – no, better than new, actually, and 100 percent germfree now. Tell you what, though. When you've finished your job here, come back and I'll install you an operating system that'll ensure this little machine of yours will forever be safe from being possessed again."

Barely suppressing a cough at the concept of a possessed computer, Sam thanked the man and promised to think about his offer. Then he left the hospital and pressed the speed-dial button on his cell for Dean.

* * *

The local library was a one-story brick affair that Dean had long grown familiar with the looks of: not a deep catalogue, this, slow 'Net access, and an uptight head librarian who refused to allow him access without being a card-carrying member till he flashed his false credentials. Finally he got situated before the one comp advertised as being connected to DSL and got to it. He even considered hitting bustyasianbeauties.com, but it was likely blocked, or the system was rigged with sirens and flashing red-and-blue lights to go off the second anyone went to a porn site.

From there, Dean was able to run an effective search for every suspicious death in and around water in the last decade or so. Nearly fifty, and it seemed to be accelerating. There was no other discernible pattern, not the lunar cycle or seasonal. The victims, might be something to that, as there were no children or senior citizens. Considering Sam's theory, he noted that the majority of the strikes occurred at the western borders of Lake Moultrie, radiating out from there. No industry out there, mostly just lake cabins.

Sam hadn't called yet, which was no surprise, so he decided a drive out that way couldn't hurt. Quickly Dean printed off several pages of the online material including maps and headed out the door. The humid heat rolled over him, and he removed his jacket. Five minutes later Dean was on his way to the nearest country back road. 

There wasn't much out of the ordinary. From inside the car, he could see the shoreline, parts of it obscured by cabins ranging from luxurious down to one-room shacks of plywood and corrugated tin; lush vegetation; old trees with trailing branches. It was a long shot, because the area covered thousands of square acres, but Dean suddenly had a strong urge to touch the water itself. Without considering there might be any sort of danger, he pulled over at a place the narrow road came close to the shore and walked to the water's edge.

Hunkering down, Dean let his fingers trail in the water. It was warm there, and seemed to drop off quickly. Unlike Sam, he had no psychic abilities, no unexplainable powers, but he'd developed good instincts and they told him to get the hell back. Right then, Dean heard his phone ring. Dammit, he'd left it on the front seat! He turned to look.

The lapse in attention cost him being tugged forward, totally off-balance, into the water. Unprepared, Dean had no oxygen reserve, and he tried not to inhale but he was soon in over his head. Strong, sinuous limbs – no, too bendy, so tentacles or coils, surrounded him, tossing him about underwater. It was too murky to see anything. Dean shuddered, panicked at the inhuman touch and slimy slithering all over him. There were scales, not skin. Something flicked at his mouth, and Dean pressed his lips more tightly together. He jerked his head away, too slowly in the water, and he was running out of air. Some sort of ooze seemed to be clinging to his cheek now, so disgusting! If his arms hadn't been restrained, he'd have wiped it off immediately. He couldn't be this thing's latest victim – he couldn't go out this way! 

Struggling more fiercely, Dean got his hand on his silver knife but couldn't flick it open. The buck knife slid out of its sheath and Dean lashed out. The encircling, powerful limbs or whatever juddered, then tightened.

The last thought in his head as his vision started to fade was that Sam would be alone again. He was sorry, so sorry, to put his brother through this.

* * *

Sam tapped his foot nervously while he waited for Dean to pick up, but the call went to voice mail. Was it possible that, for once, his brother followed the requirement for silence in a library? It was unlikely. At least, Sam had yet to meet the librarian that could intimidate Dean into complying with rules. It was only slightly more likely that Dean had succeeded hitting on the librarian and was currently too 'busy' to answer his phone.

Whatever the reason was, Sam decided to start walking toward the place he quickly found on an online map – now that he had a working computer again. He'd try to call Dean again in a few minutes. While he walked, his mood didn't exactly improve. Yes, he liked the Southern climate, but that didn't necessarily include taking long hikes on steaming blacktop. Why couldn't his stupid brother keep it in his pants – and what was it about bustyasianbeauties.com anyway that Dean kept returning there again and again? 

A few minutes later, Dean didn't answer either. Instead, now the call went directly to voice mail, with a computerized female announcing that the recipient wasn't available, which meant no signal. Sam smirked. Blocking cell signals would be an efficient means to stop calls in the library. Still, he doubted that was the case here. Maybe Dean had forgotten to charge his cell? 

Sam's instincts warned him that there may be a more sinister reason for Dean not picking up. He accelerated his walk to a jog, and fifteen minutes later, he reached the library, soaked in sweat and panting.

The Impala was nowhere to be seen. When Sam spoke to the librarian, who must have been a harpy in a previous life but finally deigned to tell him that 'agent Rossi' had left about half an hour ago after spending time researching the 'Net. She was immune to Sam's attempt at small talk, but in the end she showed him to the station Dean had used.

Three minutes later, Sam had checked the cache and printed himself a map of Lake Moultrie's western shore, cursing his brother in his mind and praying that he was safe. Stealing a car in broad daylight wasn't an option and renting one would take too long, but he was lucky and succeeded in stopping a taxi. Promising the driver to pay extra for speed, he soon spotted the Impala when they drove along the border of the lake. 

The driver was reluctant to leave him on his own, hinting about rumors that uncanny things happened to folks out here, but Sam assured him he'd ride back with his colleague and sent the man off with a generous tip.

Dean was nowhere to be seen. Sam picked up a sawed-off and a machete from the Impala's trunk and cautiously approached the bank. All the time, he felt as if someone – or some _thing_ – was watching him, and it made his hackles rise. Whatever it was made him want to run, but Dean was out here. The fact that he didn't return Sam's yelling confirmed that he must be in deep trouble.

It took Sam a long time before he finally recognized what looked like a mud-covered log half-hidden by bushes as his brother.

"Dean," he cried out and ran closer, forcing himself to check the surroundings when he really didn't have time for that. "Dean!" He shook the lifeless form, then checked for a pulse, found it weak but unnaturally fast. Wiping the slime from his brother's face – and naked torso; what the hell? – Sam discovered that Dean was covered in scrapes and bruises, just like the other victims had been.

"Dean! Shit, man, don't do this to me! You promised..." 

* * *

He must've passed out, but he was alive, and he was breathing air again. Dean dragged himself up the bank on his belly, an inch at a time. A weird buzzing filled his ears, and his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, the kind certain types of trees shed, that caused his sinuses to blow up, he couldn't think straight. All he knew was he had to get away from the water. 

It had to be a snake, like Phil had muttered deliriously just as he conked out. Dean's entire body hurt – pulled muscles from thrashing and struggling, resulting bruised on his arms and neck where the thing had restrained him with an unbreakable hold, and for some stupid reason his balls hurt like the devil, like he'd gone for a year without sex or even a wet dream. Not wanting to remember, he none the less couldn't shake the skin-crawling sense-memory of a thin alien probe – tail? – sliding all over his torso, tearing his shirt away, and then the thing slipped under the waistband of his pants. It didn't get far, thanks to his belt not allowing much extra width and Dean fighting like hell, but enough to satisfy itself he was male. Dean wiggled through sand and mud for ten or twelve yards at most, panting and sweating, needing to get as much distance as he could between himself and _it_ before exhaustion took over and he passed out again. 

Some time later, Dean became aware he was being carried. A single person had him in a fireman's carry. The broad shoulder didn't poke him in the gut, but supported his body. Had to be Sammy. Despite the stink of the lake-water and slime on his own body, Dean breathed in the familiar scent of his brother, just before he was pulled into blackness again. He'd be safe.

The next time he came to, he fought up through a dream that was a flashback of earlier events, only this time, he wasn't so lucky. He didn't get away, only struggled for air, and to break free, and to not be invaded by... No! Dean pulled in a huge gasping breath and sat bolt upright, smacking his head on the roof of the Impala. He was in the back seat; Sam was driving, eyeing him in the rear-view mirror. Sam... Those foxy eyes, short, dark smudges of lashes over high cheekbones. Dean couldn't see his lips but he could imagine how they looked and felt wrapped around his dick, or kissing him. His little brother, his lover. His own dick was rock hard, ready to burst out of his fly. He just needed contact, to touch. Anything.

"How'd you like some road head, Sammy?" Dean rasped, his voice as gravelly as if he hadn't used it for a year. Hell, even the wind blowing in the open window over his exposed nipples was too stimulating. Whimpering, Dean made to crawl over the seat. He was filthy dirty and he'd have yelled anyone else for messing up his Baby like that, but it didn't even matter in his quest to reach Sam. The second his erection made contact with the firm seat back, through his clothes though it was, Dean was lost to the friction. Frozen, then caught in one long writhe, Dean closed his eyes in abject embarrassment as his laden balls let go and he shot and shot into his pants. His fingers curled into the leather, as hot gushes wet the cotton covering the over-sensitive slit.

When it was over, he fell back onto the back seat, arm thrown over his face. It didn't stop his stupid dick from hardening again. "Fuck...!" He was so screwed. 

* * *

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Sam mentally cursed Dean as he carried his limp body back he the car, where he unceremoniously dumped him in the back seat. Why did his idiot brother always defy common sense? Sam had explicitly made him promise to _not_ go out to the lake on his own! And look where that had got him! 

He grabbed a rag from the trunk and wiped the worst of the slimy goo off of Dean's face and upper body, checking for deeper wounds that would require treatment straight away. Whatever had attacked his brother had meant business. There wasn't any larger patch of skin without contusions and, or, lacerations. Their pattern told Sam that the injuries weren't inflicted by a pair of fists or... _appendages._ It looked more as if Dean had been wrapped into something with a coarse texture – scales? – then squeezed within an inch of his life.

And from what Phil had told them, there would be more.

Sam slid behind the wheel and started the Impala, hoping he'd get Dean back to the motel before he regained consciousness. With any luck, a combination of booze and sleeping pills – which he knew they had in their first aid kit although he didn't know why or from where – would keep Dean under until the poison – or, again, whatever it was – had metabolized out of his system. Mixing these was a bad idea, but it was the only idea he could think of unless he had Dean admitted at the hospital. If the drugs didn't work, he could only hope that they had stashed enough lube.

His dick twitched, but Sam willed it down. This wasn't how it was supposed to be between them. He'd be there for Dean's needs, but neither of them would enjoy it.

In the back seat, Dean groaned. When Sam looked back, he was greeted by his brother's face with eyes so dark he thought for a moment of demon possession. But Dean's first words immediately told him otherwise.

_"How'd you like some road head, Sammy?"_

Before Sam could reply and attempt to divert Dean's attention – although he doubted that was possible – Dean tried to climb in the front seat. As soon as his groin touched the back rest, however, Dean threw his head back, closed his eyes, and came. Hard, from the noises he made, but not nearly hard enough, as his pained and needy moans betrayed when he sank back against the back seat, uttering a "Fuck!" that sounded as only the very act could save him.

Cursing under his breath, Sam put his foot down on the gas pedal. 

"Dean," he had to shout to make himself heard over his brother's groaning, "Dean, listen to me! I need you to hold on until we're back at the motel! Can you do that for me?"

* * *

Sam ordered in a stern voice that Dean 'hold on' till they reached the motel, and the Impala kicked into a roar as he floored it, driving dangerously fast around curves. The only 'hold on' Dean was currently interested in was holding on to Sam's body while he fucked them both into oblivion, his mate submissive under him while he claimed him, the two of them entwined as one forever. "God, Sam... I-I dunno if... Oh!!"

Pre-come blurted like half an orgasm from him, adding to the sticky mess at his crotch. This was worse than the first rush of puberty, worse than it had ever been after his longest hiatus from sex, maybe six or seven months, and even then, he beat off. Hands clenched into fists, Dean tightened his abs and stared at the tan vinyl with it's little pinhead-sized holes, half-horrified, half-fascinated. Why was his hole throbbing almost as hard as his dick? So this is what drove all of those poor fuckers into such sorry states – he couldn't imagine he'd ever beat this, and damned if he wanted to, other than it was mortifying as shit. Dean couldn't control his body, couldn't stop palming the wet patch his hard-on rose in a thick ridge under. Arching his back, he ground up into not nearly enough friction; he needed so much more than his own hand, hips pulsing restlessly. Dean flipped onto his front and humped the seat. "Sorry, Baby," he whispered, fevered and gasping into the crack where the seat met the backrest, where the scent of his own seed was the most pungent if he breathed in deep. 

"Mmmmm yeah baby god..." Jeez, was he going to jizz in his pants again?? Infected or whatever, that was too much. "How long, Sammy... I gotta... need you... Pleeeeeaasse!" 

But however long till the motel was too long. Dean scrabbled at his belt, button and zipper with a ferocity that nearly matched the earlier fight for air, succeeding in getting his semen-coated dick free and sliding it against the grain of the leather, hyper-aware of the spaced lines of stitching and the little indent where the middle seat-belt always slipped back, and he did it, made love to the seat because she was there for him and his lover was getting them somewhere safe, clean, warm and dry but till then he just _needed_ so goddamned bad and it wasn't even a proxy, but a familiar embrace. His hips, his whole body jerked when he came, smearing his helpless spurts of cream between his skin and hers, and he wallowed in it, tears of release making another stain. 

It didn't even take the edge off. 

* * *

Sam's quick glances toward the back seat turned more nervous with every passing minute. It wasn't really far to drive, but Dean's urge already defied sanity, and Sam had an inkling that this was only the beginning. He couldn't really watch his brother at their current traveling speed, but if Dean were in the front seat next to him, Sam doubted they'd ever make it to the motel.

When Dean apologized to 'Baby', Sam's ears reddened. Yes, he'd always found Dean's love for the Impala a little weird, but weird came with the territory if you were a Winchester. Still, he didn't know whether to feel relieved or worried when Dean started to hump the backseat – relief because there was an outlet other than himself, and worry because Dean was so far gone in his need that he'd apparently lost any inhibition. Not that he had much of that to begin with, Sam thought, but there must be some things even Dean wouldn't dare admit, not even to Sam. Maybe an Impala fetish was one of them. 

Dean got off in no time, moaning and writhing, but it didn't seem to have helped. It was the second time in less than five minutes. Sam wished they'd asked Phil how long it had lasted, but maybe it was better not to know. Given Dean's stamina, it was probably going to be a while before either of them gave out.

How Sam wished it were over already! He _loved_ sex with Dean, could never get enough of it, but this was something different. It also brought back memories of Dean crying in his arms when he told Sam how he'd been abused. Sam shuddered. There was so much more at stake here than just their bodies. Gritting his teeth, he vowed that he'd get his brother through this.

In the back seat, Dean was fisting his dick when Sam pulled up in front of their motel room with screeching tires. Looking around, he couldn't see anyone, so he decided to take the risk and pull Dean out of the car and into the room buck naked. He wouldn't have been able to get Dean dressed anyway, and they – Dean – had no time to lose. 

Sam shoved his brother into the room, then grabbed the lube from the drawer they kept it in, pushed his pants down and hurriedly prepped himself. Dean was moaning and howling, desire turned into agony, but Sam knew that he needed to be ready for a marathon. After the first round or ten, he'd get the hand lotion he denied using from his sponge bag as there was no telling who'd be sorer, Sam's ass or Dean's dick.

"Almost done," he panted while Dean looked at him with hungry eyes, and Sam knew that even if he wasn't ready in a few seconds, his brother wouldn't be able to hold back any longer. Finally, he pulled his fingers out. Dean was on him before he could think. Sam took a deep breath, forced himself to relax, and told him, "I love you. Never forget that. We'll get through this, I swear."

* * *

In his all-consuming efforts to get off, Dean had kicked off his soggy clothes – pants, underwear, socks and shoes – onto the floorboard. The buzzing, drugged overlay still ensnared his body, but now, it was if he were watching from somewhere else despite it being through his own eyes – somewhere not-him that was the real him, not the sex-crazed creature inhabiting the back seat. But then the two fused, and the next time he grasped any awareness of what he was doing, Dean had his bare ass planted in his own sticky mess and he was chasing the rapture again, stroking his upright cock. Criminal, doing this in broad daylight like some perv, but he just couldn't stop!

The car squealed to an abrupt halt, and before Dean could be bothered to see where they were, Sam pulled Dean's hand off his erection. About to snarl, he never had the opportunity as his brother yanked him out and into their motel room, not pausing to throw a stitch over him. Maybe he wanted Dean exposed like that, for the whole world to see his purple, leaking hard-on, his own cum clinging to him, and his nakedness and shivering pelvis, which couldn't thrust when he had to walk but didn't quite function for either purpose correctly right now. 

Inside the room, Dean would have pushed Sam onto the bed if he hadn't gone on his own. The suit pants came down, and Sam was up and kneeling, prepping his own hole while Dean moved in closer. He was jacking himself again; whatever little part of him that was cognizant comprehended that Sam was accompanying him not because he himself wanted sex right now, but because if he didn't, Dean would take him dry and raw. Evidence – Sam's soft cock tucked between his legs as he bent forward – made Dean want to scream that this wasn't him. He would never behave that way, force himself on someone who didn't want him. Yet the sight of that glistening little hole opened just for him, the long thighs spread, Sam looking back, saying that no matter what, he loved him... 

Apparently he couldn't control his noises, either – It sounded like an animal in the zoo, guttural and clotted with arousal; in the same fashion, Dean mounted his brother from behind, his dick crying and screaming for the hot tight clasp of his mate and he was _there_. A fractured grunt punched out of Sam. More, when Dean pulled back and pounded into him. "Yes, Sammy, yes... yesssss..." 

Every sensory perceptor in his body had to be erect and pushing for the release he needed. Dean shoved Sam's shirt up and put his hands on that skin, miles of it, tan with a few dots of moles. Bending down while keeping his own rhythm, had to have that tight grasp to push and pull into, he pushed Sam's back lower, licked at his shoulder and into the nubs of his spine. Somehow he managed to slow the pace a little, because as badly as he needed to cum – again – something told him this couldn't be cured with only quantity. It needed to be good, and not only for him. 

"Just put your head down, Sam," Dean managed to sound human. "Gonna be here a while..." He draped himself over his brother, hips making short jabs now. One hand, he laid flat to the mattress as anchor; the other took up residence under Sam, fingertips brushing the landmarks: each nipple, the tense muscles of his chest and belly, his navel and the line of hair running down... No, barely a twitch when Dean touched his dick. "Sammy... I... I promise I'll make it better for you but I'm..."

Another orgasm was creeping up on him, stealthy pressure gathering at the base of his spine. His balls pulled up tight; powerless to do anything but ride it out, Dean thrust and thrust, growling, grabbed on and bit down and came, another massive load flooding his brother's channel. He slid in his own jizz, faster, faster. No, he didn't go limp – he stayed hard, and his body kept right on fucking. 

This time, there'd been some degree of relief, not long, but enough for some momentary lucidity. This, his cum up in Sam's ass, felt better than lube alone, and Sam had used plenty of that. But... Sam, he wasn't an object, wasn't a glory hole or pocket pussy, he was a man, a person, and Dean loved him so much. Sex had always been a way for them to show each other that love, share it, and this was... Not that. Hadn't Sam said the same, and Dean had been too out of it to understand. He couldn't just use his brother's body like it was a sex toy! "Sammy, I... My body won't stop this but I need it to be good for you, too, 'kay?" he whispered. "Wanna make you hard, make you cum. Please..." 

Once again, he fell forward, this time so they had skin-to-skin contact. Dean groaned louder than ever, his flesh quivering in ecstasy at the touch. 

* * *

Dean mounted him hard and fast. It was over quickly, but it was also clear that it wasn't enough by a far cry. Dean didn't even soften, and he continued to hump Sam as if there was no tomorrow.

Still, despite the crazed need, Sam felt Dean's presence. Between the desperate grunts and thrusts, Dean said Sam's name, promised he'd make it better. They were in a literally truly fucked-up situation, with Dean beside himself, hopped up on an unquenchable sexual need, and Sam clueless and helpless about it. However, he felt that somehow it meant something to Dean that it was him, Sam, not just a body with an asshole.

"We'll get through this together," Sam confirmed again as he put his head down as Dean had suggested. It moved him that even in his current state, Dean still put him first, and it made his dick fill out. This was still Dean, his brother, the man he loved!

"I want that, too," he said. "Want you to make me cum." Sam turned his head and smiled as well as he could under his brother's thrusts. "You already made me hard. I love you so much, Dean."

* * *

Hearing that, Sam telling that he was hard, shook a powerful tremor through Dean's body. The room seemed to brighten before his eyes, and while he was panting, oxygen finally cleared his thinking. The compulsion to rut still gripped him, yet now, just as urgent was the need to bring pleasure to his mate. 

"You're hard for me?" he breathed. "'Cuz that's so fucking hot." Dean pulled back slow and smooth, till just the head of his cock remained inside. The tense band of Sam's stretched ring slid down every inch, over the tiny fluttering veins of his shaft. "Uuunnggg..." He shoved it back in, ground his hips like they were mortar and pestle. Inside was the spot – he just needed to hit it and Sam would lose his mind. A lurch and gasp told him when he'd found just the right angle. "Don't cum yet," Dean rasped. "Gonna give it to you easy." Hips pumping in only languid, tiny thrusts, now he could rub and prod at the gland up inside and milk it out.

Sam hadn't been lying; Dean braved the earlier shame and reached around again. Yeah, there, that big dick full and upright for him, because Sam loved him, wanted him. He closed his fist around the swollen flesh. Soaking wet at the tip, curved slightly, thickest at the base, the sleeve of foreskin to play with – Dean teased the thin cowl up over that flaring red ridge and slid it back, over and over. "Love being inside you, touching you. Love you..." 

Just like that, with the words falling from his lips, his body tightened in an encore. Not ready yet, because he wanted to pleasure every inch of Sam's body while he made love to him, Dean cried his brother's name and, "with me!" strident and frantic. He remained deep, so deep, pouring his seed into his lover till his balls burned and every drop was wrung from them. For now. 

Because he was still hard. Already, he couldn't remember for sure how many times he'd come. More than his share. Some solo, some with his brother under him. Sam had always preferred face to face, as did Dean; if he had to pick one position, it would be good old missionary. There was plenty to be read in the shift and jostle of a man's backside and hips, how he arched or tossed his head, not to mention the state of his junk, but it was the face, the lips and eyes and every little nuance of expression that said it best, love and lust and adoration and caring. 

"Hope you'll still love me when it's over, this funky snake spit turning me into an uber-nympho or whatever." Dean thought so – Sam had said he would; it was his way of apologizing. "Turn over, Sam. So we can see each other." 

* * *

Sam wasn't ready when Dean yelled out his name and came. He held himself still for his shaking brother when Dean pushed so deep that it felt as if he were trying to climb into Sam. "That's it, I want you deep inside me," he encouraged Dean to ride out his peak. It wouldn't be the last one, and Sam knew he would come eventually, but not yet. 

Dean asked him to turn over, and Sam complied, happy to be able to face him. Watching Dean's face when he released was almost as much of a turn-on as having his prostate stimulated by his brother's expert strokes. "Gonna cum," he whispered feverishly when Dean resumed his thrusts immediately, as soon as Sam was on his back. He wrapped his legs around Dean's hips and put his hands on his butt, pulling him close.

"I'll always love you," Sam promised, and he meant it. Nothing would ever be able to quench the love and desire he felt for his brother. Snake spit or not, Sam knew he was the only lover Dean would ever allow himself to open up to. That alone would never fail to turn his knees into goo and his dick rock solid, and it made him enjoy the act right now. Although it appeared like fucking much rather than making love, Sam knew that the love was there also, deep in them both.

Just in this moment, Dean hit his sweet spot dead on, and Sam threw his head back and moaned. Deep indeed, both in his heart and in his body. The familiar delighted grin Dean wore every time he found Sam's ecstasy center made him gasp. Even in his need, Dean managed to slow down and drag the crown slowly over the highly sensitive gland, and Sam couldn't hold back a scream.

"Nuuuhhh! Dean! Oh god! Yes, please do that again, please, please..."

* * *

When Sam clasped him tight – arms, legs, hands grabbing Dean's ass and pulling him, grinding up against him from below, Dean was lost. "Gnnah, Sammy, yeah...!" He spread his knees wide, let his balls swing, and, in the special and unique rhythm that was _them_ , rocked in and out of his lover's body. The primal need to fuck was replaced with the need to just feel, he had to feel everything... 

Dean laid his body flush on top of Sam's and met his eyes, seeing his need as well as feeling it throb against his belly. The heat of love and desire flared so strong Dean squirmed as they kissed, finally! Invading Sam's mouth, feeling him reciprocate with open lips and slick seeking tongue, it was so much better to have him this way. Sam writhed, torso stretching, frantic to get off, too, and Dean angled his pelvis so he knew he'd rub against the pleasure gland inside. Those slanted eyes squeezed shut as Sam threw his head back; sweaty strands of hair clung to his face, others to the pillow under his head. His stiff nipples stabbed the sides of Dean's chest. Only a few short slides like that and Sam grunted from deep in his gut, a screech proclaimed his release, then the warm spurts of his silky seed splashed between them, glue to their bond. 

"'S right... You cum, baby, cum hard for me," Dean gasped, awed by Sam's powerful response. "Love you, I love you; god, you're gorgeous, ride it out, so good, Sammy," he crooned. All that skin, wet and salt, shivered at his words and at the swipes of his tongue when he went to lap up the droplets of cream that had escaped to decorate curved collarbones, and the delicate little hollow between. Oh, and if he thought Sam was tight normally, when he orgasmed, his ring muscle spasmed, its grip almost painful. Until Sam tensed, his signal for was more than enough, Dean moved inside him, more of a swivel. But he could, and did, pull out when it became too much. 

Flopping onto the bed next to Sam, Dean laced their fingers together. He ignored how his cock slapped heavily on his belly as he fell back, still hard. A minute to breathe, then he rolled to his side, facing Sam, trailing his fingers through the messy pool of milky spunk.

"This is insane," he moaned after a while. "When will it be over?" Rhetorical question – neither of them had a clue. So far, Dean bore a lot more bruises thanks to his forced swim in the lake than he'd inflicted on Sam, but he remembered Mrs. Bingham and reports of the others. It felt like the worst crazy-horny rush was over, but again, he had no way of knowing. 

Ten minutes later, Dean grimaced and announced, "Gonna take a shower. Maybe I can rub another one out. Save your ass a little... Oh, god, did I hurt you?" he cried, suddenly freaked. Sam had prepped quickly and efficiently while keeping Dean at bay long enough for two fingers and a generous slathering of lube, but still, Dean had pounded him mindlessly at first, and... "Sam...?" 

* * *

Sam's vision whitened when he reached the incredible peak. Dean's lust and love always made him respond, even now when they both knew that it was fueled by the snake poison. Despite the obvious urge to rut, Dean pushed his own needs back to make it better for Sam. Clinging to his brother during the powerful release, Sam wasn't sure if he'd missed Dean's climax; in any event, Dean was still hard and kept moving, but he pulled out as soon as Sam whimpered when it became too much.

The amount fluid of that gushed out from his hole was insane. Sure, they both came messily – producing a lot of 'stuff', a leftover term from when they'd been teens that had become a running joke between them – but this? 

From the looks of it, Dean was far from done. He was capable of speaking, like wondering how long it would still last, but his hips kept making little thrusts, and his dick was still hard and leaking. Sam was glad for the break, which, apparently, even Dean's body needed. When Dean announced that he'd take a shower and tackle the next round there without Sam in order to spare him, Dean's greatest worry was that Sam may be sore. Well, that was something Sam could reassure him about.

"'m not sorer than normal," Sam said, "and you know I like that," he added with a grin. "But you mustn't flee to the shower. I'm here for you. Dean," Sam lowered his voice. "I _want_ to be here for you. With you. We go through this together." It would make them stronger.

"Now try to relax and let me touch you..." Sam caressed Dean's hip and pushed him gently on his back. "I know how much you need it. Let me give this to you." His hand trailed a line from the hip to the bobbing erection, but Dean winced when Sam wrapped his hand around it. Of course, his brother's dick was sore! Well, there were other ways of getting Dean off.

"Trust me," Sam pleaded as he ran his hand between Dean's legs, behind the swollen balls that looked painful, too. Pressing gently on the perineum, Dean's vain thrusts sped up, and Sam knew this was the right thing to do. He scooped up some of the cum-and-lube mix that clung to his thighs. "Gonna use your 'stuff'," he announced. "Gonna make you feel so good!"

Dean's hole was fluttering as Sam slipped a finger inside. The ring muscle was loosened somewhat by the series of orgasms Dean had already had, so he immediately added a second digit. It wasn't often that Dean allowed himself to be penetrated, never by Sam's dick, and never by more than a tongue or a finger, but if he let it happen, it got him off spectacularly.

Slowly working his fingers inside the heat, Sam noticed that Dean's hole – his whole body – tightened. When he reached his brother's sweet spot and gave it a first gentle stroke, Dean howled. His hips lifted off the bed, and a gush of fluid shot from his reddened slit with so much force that it spattered all over the headboard.

Surprised but encouraged by the strong reaction, Sam continued to stroke the tiny gland – which, as he suddenly realized, was not so tiny at all: instead of the lumpy walnut-sized shape, his probing fingers mapped out the size and shape of a tennis ball that kept pulsing at every touch. Shit, was this what they had to deal with? Get Dean off until his prostate was empty and back to its original size?

Jet after jet spurted from Dean as Sam continued to milk him, it seemed to go on forever. Dean's initial cries of release had become hoarse, and Sam could see that he didn't enjoy it, but he still kept coming and coming.

"Dean," Sam gasped, annoyed that he was rock hard again by the sight and moans of his squirming brother, "I can feel that there's an awful accumulation of spunk in you. I'm afraid we need to get it all out. Tell me when you need a break."

* * *

"Together," Dean agreed, relieved Sam didn't shove him away in disgust or avoid looking at him. Sam had winced when he'd pulled out, big surprise. After having cum from the friction of his pants and the seat, then just the leather, then how many times inside Sam, was it any wonder his dick-skin was starting to get chapped? They found that out when Sam wrapped a hand around him. It hurt, and Dean hissed in pain. 

His lust – and his erection – showed no sign of abating. He couldn't keep still, the fever or infection or whatever rising again. Dean almost sobbed in agreement when Sam suggested another way to get him off, telling Dean to lie back, that he'd care of him. "I trust you," he answered when Sam asked it of him.

From the day he'd gotten off for the very first time, Sam had been the one who got as much pleasure from having his hole touched, licked, or penetrated as from having his genitals stimulated. Because of his history, Dean, whose body was just as responsive to anal play, rarely allowed his brother to reciprocate in that way, and Sam never pushed it.

It was hard for him to agree. Dean had a bad moment when a lubed finger touched his scared little opening. But it was Sam, who knew how to make it right, petted across the pucker till his outer muscle softened and gave, and wiggled one digit inside. He needed it bad, both to give his overused cock a break, and because just the slightest strokes had him shooting more 'stuff'. Dean gasped every time Sam pressed his prostate; lines of spunk spewed like a hose under pressure. He spread his thighs as far as they'd go, willingly allowing his lover to see everything, arched and tossed his head from side to side as Sam milked the fluid from his prostate a spurt at a time most. 

While he worked, Sam stared at him intently; Dean could feel his eyes along the lines of his body, caressing him through the ordeal. The first few times felt really good, like multiple orgasms, maybe. Every half a minute or less, the fingers – two, then three – inside him would brush over that place inside him and another gush would let loose. "Sam... Sam..." Dean couldn't get any other words out. Covered in his own juices, he bore down, clenched, bucked, in a frenzy. 

His anatomy couldn't be that different from Sam's, other than superficially. They were both well-built, well-hung – good genes, he supposed. Yet Dean picked up that something was off, specifically, something about how his inner parts felt. Sam's prostate was about the size and shape of a pullet egg, but today, Dean's was swollen, he could tell. Sam's comment, that he had an "awful accumulation", confirmed it. 

By the eighth or tenth time, it started to get painful. "How much more... do you think?" he asked from between gritted teeth. "Stop a minute!" His legs wanted to snap closed, and Dean reminded himself to stay relaxed.

"What's going on in there? Cuz if my prostate's all blown up, how'm I s'posed to pee?" He had to be losing his grip to say that. "Just tell me." 

* * *

"Dean," Sam soothed and wrapped his arms around his brothers to hold the shaking form after stopping the prostate milking. "Let's rest for a minute. You tell me when... you need me again, 'kay?"

He let go of his brother and went to the bathroom to fetch a cup of water. "Here, drink this. You need the fluid." Sitting on the bed next to Dean, Sam made sure the older Winchester emptied the cup before speaking again.

"What's going on in there, no idea. Your prostate is ginormous, but it's already gone down a little since I got my fingers in there first. Also, you're able to take a break without it overwhelming you. So I think whatever caused this, it's beginning to fade. How long, no idea."

Before he could catch himself, Sam reached out and wiped the sweat off Dean's face with his hand. "I'll get you through this, I swear. You're not alone and I'll help you. It's been..." he checked his watch and his eyes widened, "more than four hours, almost five. I don't think it can last much longer." 

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but the snake – if it was one – didn't seem to try and kill all of its victims. To those it released, the poison provided an insane boost of the sex drive, but so far hadn't led to any deaths. Some had suffered circulatory failure and heart troubles, but the urge had usually let up before that. It was what made Sam confident that it would be over soon.

It also gave him a few ideas, but he'd address them when Dean's ordeal was over. Or, no, Dean would probably need to sleep for at least a day to recover, but Sam would wait with his further investigation until his brother was safe.

"How're you feeling?" he asked. "Want more water? Or is it time again...?"

* * *

"Thanks," Dean said gratefully, draining the cup of water in seconds. "'Ginormous'? That's not good. I don't think I can take much more, and we gotta get it all out, somehow." He assumed Sam would understand the context – between the two of them, they needed to squeeze, milk, press, or coax the excess semen from the distended gland. If it had shrunk only 'a little' from all Sam's fingering, it would take forever. He could be one of the head cases in the ER by then. Or worse. 

"I need a drink," Dean panted. "Or a pill. Or maybe a shot. Please Sam." He looked at his brother pleadingly. It was starting again, though it was the last thing he wanted. "I'm so sorry, starting to need you again..." All the things that made Sam physically attractive to him slapped at his brain, and he couldn't stop the inventory flowing from his mouth. At the same time, he rolled to his side, curling around himself, so that Sam could be spared the sight of his dick turning an angry purple as it extended and thickened to fully erect, silvery drippings wetting the crown yet again. 

"You should know, Sam, that right now I want you so much, and I wish to god I wasn't under this... Whatever-it-is so I could show you and you'd know it's real, but I want you to know... If I couldn't be with you again ever in our lives I'd still die happy because we finally admitted to ourselves and to each other how it is, how our love is everything. And we kissed, we were together, we made love, and Sam, it was so goddamn special and perfect and to touch you..." Dean's eyes stung and he blinked. "It's heaven. Every time." 

"You give of yourself like it couldn't be any other way. You let me into your body... How? I don't deserve it! Look at you, so fucking huge, there's something in me that _needs_ to get you under me sometimes, and you allow it. Then I look down at your mile-long back and just...mmmph! Those dimples, Sammy. They kill me, just wanna lick them, like your nipples, or those sweet little ears that you're so stand-off-ish about. But that's the only thing. Your ass deserves a shrine, you know that? Your body is art, every bit of it, and the way you move, how you don't hold anything back when it's just us..." Dean had to stop a minute, his voice catching with emotion. 

"Yeah, I even love your fuzzy pits and your stupid sideburns. Other than maybe Baby, and to stay alive, the only thing I've ever wanted was to have you at my side or at my back. As a hunter, I trust you with my life, and I'd do anything, _anything_ to keep you safe. And you – doing for me right now, being here. I love you for it; you're probably saving my life." After Sam had told Dean how his prostate was full of backed-up fluid, the idea had flashed before his eyes, but Dean pushed it away. He couldn't, only... There was no other way. 

Looking up into Sam's surprised face, half-freaked but his dick jumping between his thighs, Dean ducked his head and rushed on, "You're gonna need to fuck me. You know... Or this will go on and on... Get behind me or on me and," he swallowed around the grapefruit-sized lump in his throat, "take me. Squeeze it all out of me one spurt at a time, with your dick. Want every inch of you. Faster that way. And... you've been patient with me. Never asked. After it's all over, want you to cum inside me."

* * *

When Dean admitted he needed a drink or something, Sam thought that might actually not be a bad idea. Alcohol with its numbing properties might make Dean less sensitive, besides taking the edge off. Being dead drunk didn't usually affect Dean's sexual strength, but it might still soothe the need somewhat. 

He was about to dig for the bottle of Jack in Dean's duffel when Dean curled on his side and started... to _talk?_ He must be so exhausted that his emotional shields had crumbled. Dean describing the love he felt for his brother made Sam's eyes sting. And then... he suggested that...

Sam's mouth fell open. Despite the insatiable hunger and raw need, this was the last thing he'd expected. Dean couldn't... It was so rare that the older Winchester let his shields down and allowed Sam to even touch him there. Sam knew how much it cost his brother. As much as Dean wanted to trust him, he was an abuse victim, and Sam had long since come to terms with the fact that he'd never be allowed to be in his body. It had stung at first, but as soon as he'd found out the reason behind Dean's reluctance, Sam had accepted that Dean couldn't let himself be, 'taken'.

And now he'd just asked Sam to do it. It was _wrong_ , and yet Sam knew that his brother was right. It was probably the only way other than taking his brother to the hospital and having the gland drained by a medical procedure – if there even existed one. He shuddered at the thought. No, if Dean needed him to do this, Sam wouldn't let him down.

"Are you sure?" The words were out of his mouth before he could think. He was sure that Dean – no, not wanted, but needed it. Still... Sam found that he was hard as nails at the prospect of sliding inside this tempting tight heat, but not like this! He wanted to make love to his brother, slowly bring him to the verge of losing his mind in the pleasure. And then... Sam had never been with another man but Dean. He could – would – do this, but he needed more reassurance.

"Dean, I had two fingers in you. That's nowhere near my... size. I'll be careful, but it's still gonna hurt." He laughed nervously. "I don't want to cause you pain, and I wish I knew..." Sam swallowed. "I've never done this before and I'm scared of hurting you. I know you're hurting right now and that you need it, but..."

He made up his mind. "I wanna see your face when I'm in you. And... If... if you can stand it... me... I'll want to love you again when this is over. To make it... good."

* * *

"Sam, I'm not bullshitting. We have to – I'm sure of that. And I only want you. Two fingers?" Dean shrugged. "Maybe you don't want to know this but there was a time that I trained myself to, um, relax. So it wouldn't hurt so much. Lube will help. And it'll be you. The fact you're asking and not just jumping me means a lot. Everything else is just details." 

He was nowhere near as confident as he tried to sound. When offered the bottle of Jack from his duffel, Dean grabbed it and gulped down several swallows. He'd need the liquid courage, along with its numbing effects and inhibition-lowering properties. "I can see you're more than willing." Dean dipped his eyes. He took another long swig from the bottle and rolled onto his back. 

"This how you want me?" Just a little while ago, he'd had his legs wide open, his hole exposed, Sam's fingers in there. Now Dean felt like he was frozen. Frozen in sticky, stiff repose on the messed motel bedspread. "I'm... Sam, please help me!" Not just with his current problem, but the years of nightmares and lingering doubt. 

* * *

"I know you're not bullshitting," Sam said sincerely and looked in his brother's eyes. "We'll do this, together. I just needed a second to wrap my head around it. I... we have to go slow because I won't take you unprepared, but you have to tell me if it... the urge gets too much. I'll try to take the edge off."

He indicated that Dean should keep the bottle. It would also serve to keep his hands occupied and off his dick that looked so sore that Sam winced. "Let me try something here," he announced. 

Uncapping the lube tube, he squirted some of the slippery substance on his fingers. Instead of sliding them straight into Dean's hole again, he began to gently massage his brother's perineum, the sensitive region between the balls and the anal sphincter, the root of Dean's erection. The prostate lay behind the muscle and could be stimulated externally. Given the size of Dean's swollen gland, Sam thought that the tender rhythmic rubbing he applied would be enough to get Dean off a few times so that Sam could meanwhile stretch him properly.

"How does this feel?" he asked. Before Dean could answer, a white blob flew from his slit and Sam smiled. "I'll keep doing this until you're ready for me," he said. Placing a kiss on his brother's thigh, he held Dean's hip down and slipped two fingers into Dean's needy and willing body, gasping with the sensation while he kept kneading the perineum gently with his thumb. 

"I want you to cum for me," Sam whispered. "Again and again. Every time you shoot it's your body telling me that you love me." He sure felt this way, despite the knowledge that it was the snake poison. If this thought made it any easier for Dean, Sam could go on until they both collapsed.

* * *

Dean stared at the ceiling, which was spinning slowly, one way then the other, like a washing machine on a very slow agitation speed. Could have been the booze, or his level of exhaustion and arousal, and it was actually cool like the buzz is cool when you first get drunk. Sam's hair swept along his thighs when he eased Dean's legs apart and leaned down. So soft, his lips touched down and left a kiss along the inner thigh; a second later, slick fingers rubbed against the seam of his taint. Just like when Sam had stroked his prostate from the inner angle, the massage there soon worked him up to the point where he tensed and hissed, "Yessssss, Sammy," unloading more cream. 

The last series, coming without what he'd always considered 'sex', in other words, his dick being stimulated, had felt just as intense, but different. Though they too were congested with pent-up fluid, Dean didn't think his balls were even involved, when Sam worked him like that. His body was cocked and loaded, performing the mechanics of orgasm over and over; even his hole seemed to have its own spasming, fluttering release. What he ached for now was everything, all of it – all of his muscles and organs and fluids spiking at the same time in a shattering, messy, bone-wrenching climax. 

There, between his legs, sat his lover, the only person he wanted for the rest of his life. "God yeah, Sam... Love you... my body loves you, just like you said," he echoed, breathless as he came from just the circular motion of Sam's fingers expressing a new surface. A few minutes later he howled and spurted again – two of Sam's long digits slid up inside him, while his thumb continued the outside pressure, squeezing the gland. "Oh yeah, keep going... Just like that! Doesn't hurt, feels so good to get it all out... mmmmrrrrgghh!!" 

Now he was splayed out again, legs spread wide and back arched off the bed. Another load dropped, and Dean licked it off his own lips as the warm jets fell upon his face. "More... More please god Sammy... Love how you make me cum, it's so..." The fingers tapped the quivering organ inside again, and he shot again, body clamping down, "...so fucking..." The next squeeze made him scream, fists clenched in the bedspread. "Please... Please, you gotta... My balls are gonna explode! I need you Sammy, please fuck me, need you so bad..." 

Somewhere in his sex-saturated brain, Dean knew 'fuck me' wouldn't get him squat. With a mighty effort, he levered himself up on one elbow, so he could look into his brother's eyes, bottomless in their concern and caring. Maybe he was on fire with hormones or pheromones or whatever it was, but Sam, rock-hard towering erection or not, had his own needs as well, and his own nerves. Over the last hour, Dean had heard him repeat that he wouldn't hurt him, that he – Sam – needed to get his head around it. Suddenly 'it' hit him: Sam had been with his girlfriend Jessica, but he'd never been inside Dean or any man before. 

Blinking back tears, Dean tried to get a grip. Spunk continued to leak from him, as if once the floodgate opened, there was no sealing it again entirely even though he wasn't cumming right then. He could hold out a little while – he _would_ hold out. For Sam. 

Sam said nothing, his expression still reading as torn. Want, and almost-fear. Love, lust, and stubbornness. Dean went on, aware of his voice rasping hoarsely and slurring, "I know you deserve better than your brother down with snake fever in some skeevy motel room. It's not lost on me it's your first time, Sam. Know that. It's ironic, but the more you make me talk, the more I want you." 

"What I mean is: I've been telling you that I love you in words, and with every single drop of jizz. And I wanna tell you more. Wanna tell you by letting you inside me. Deep. Inside. Sam, please give me you. Your body. Your cock. To stretch me out and make it burn till it feels good, and every move you make when you're loving me. Your stuff, when you cum." He couldn't help a quick little grin. "And I'm giving you me. But only if you're ready, okay? You don't have to." 

* * *

Something had changed. There was no longer only the urge to rut in his brother, but Sam realized that Dean felt pleasure now, too. It made him breathe easier and raised hope that it would indeed be over soon.

"I'm ready," Sam said. "I've been ready for a long time, but you weren't. If I was asking for reassurance, it was because I had to know that you're ready." While speaking, he continued to rub Dean's perineum and slid a third finger inside his body. "I believe you that your mind is ready now. Your heart has always been. As for your body..." 

He wished he could kiss Dean's lips, but knew he had to keep on massaging, so Sam bent down and kissed a trail from the quivering flank to Dean's balls, avoiding the sore dick. Scissoring his fingers in the tight heat, he slipped first one then the other testicle in his mouth and suckled gently. Then he pressed down with his thumb and Dean's slit exploded again in a thick burst of cream.

"Your body is almost ready, too," Sam whispered as he let go of the swollen twin glands before resuming laving them. He knew he was big, and decided that Dean needed a fourth finger. "Relax now," he mumbled around the heavy balls. When Dean tensed in another forceful release, Sam pushed all his fingers in just as his brother's hole loosened up for a moment. This time, the jet of seed was immediately joined by a second gush when Sam pressed in as deeply as he could.

"Almost there, now." Sam was with beside himself with desire, too. Dean was so tight that the clench around Sam's fingers bordered on painful. The thought of his dick being squeezed and milked by the strong grip brought tears to his eyes.

"Gods, Dean," he started to ramble. "I wanna be deep inside you. Wanna stretch you and make it burn so good. Gonna love you and fill you so good, milk you dry and then fill you with my seed. Gonna make you cum so hard that you pass out. Please tell me that I can be in you now!" The need to be in his brother was so strong that he was close to sobbing.

* * *

Sam proclaimed him ready, and Dean's heartbeat kicked up a notch, but he didn't move to cover him yet, adding more finger, more lube, continuing what he'd been doing. Moving his hips along with the fingering and stretching, Dean squeezed his eyes closed. More spunk, so thick it felt like paste, came out of him. His slit was burning, along with his rim, stretched thin. 

The warm, wet suction around his balls was just the end. They swelled in their enveloping encasement, tightening so he could barely control himself. "Please, Sammy," Dean whined, almost a sob. He pushed his ass down against his brother's hand. Little choked-off noises caught in his throat. Sam wanted them facing, but he had an almost undeniable urge to roll over and shove his ass in the air. "I'm sure. Be in me – love me – _now!_ Can't take much more... do it."

In a twisting motion, Dean dislodged Sam's fingers, grabbed him by the arms and hauled him bodily up, on top of him. Sinuous, he wrapped his arms and legs around his brother, rubbing up against him. Hand curled around the back of Sam's neck, Dean brought their lips together, both of them snarling with need, heat and wet and slick tongues. There, this, this was it. 

* * *

"Fuck, yeah," Sam couldn't suppress a grunt when Dean pulled him up and wrapped his arms and legs around him. "I'm gonna do it," he warned.

While he'd been stretching Dean as wide as he could, Sam had pushed as much lube as he could get inside his twitching hole. It meant that he didn't have to withdraw now in order to slick himself up. 

Overwhelmed by feeling Dean's whole body pressed against his, Sam shifted around until his dick was sliding along Dean's cleft. The friction was enough to make his brother give out a sob as his next orgasm hit. For a few seconds, Dean was shaking against Sam and more sticky heat spread between them, then Sam's need took over.

Dean resumed kissing him, hard and urgent, and Sam returned the kiss fiercely. While their tongues fought for domination, Sam grabbed his brother's butt cheeks and pulled them apart. He canted his hips and rubbed the tip of his erection against the ass cleft until he felt the quivering pucker. There, right there, so close now!

"Dean, oh god, yes," Sam moaned and pressed against the stubborn ring muscle. "Please let me in! I need to be in you!"

* * *

Sam stopped a-fucking-gain; he already had Dean in position, his chest pinning Dean down, large hands cupping his ass and holding it open, what the hell?! The head of his cock was _right there_ , wet with pre-come and lube and bigger than any combination of fingers. Totally beside himself, Dean pulled at Sam's hips with his legs. The touch was no longer tentative, and he willed himself to stay relaxed and open back there. Seriously, Sam was making him impale himself! Dean tightened his legs again and locked his ankles. Had he known this would be the m.o., he'd have thrown Sam on his back and ridden him long before now. 

"C'mon, you gotta push it in..." Dean begged. Only half the head was in, and the next part, the flared ridge, would be the widest. Then there was the length. So much of Sam. Concentrating, he let the tension bleed out of his pelvic region and butt, willing his hole to accept the intrusion. It softened, and he jerked upwards, taking more. As an unconscious distraction, his fingertips caressed Sam's lower back, the twin indents there. With another upward lurch of his hips, Dean gasped as the physical sensations overpowered him. It burned, and he totally didn't care. The head, all of it, popped through his guardian muscle. It was glorious. Perfect. Only... "More... More... Fill me full," he moaned. 

* * *

Afraid to hurt his brother, Sam was reluctant to push too hard: he had no idea how much it would take to finally get him inside the tight heat. When Dean took over and pressed back, practically impaling himself, Sam felt utmost relief for a moment; then his mind was blown away by the ecstasy.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," he kept chanting, shuddering with pleasure when the fat head slipped past the guardian muscle. It was so hot, so tight, so fucking incredible that Sam couldn't stop himself from pushing deeper. Now that he'd breached Dean, there was still a lot of delicious friction, but no more force was required. The slow slide was making him howl with need and Sam continued pressing in until his balls slapped against Dean's body.

"Holy shit," he moaned as he rested for a moment, his torso against Dean's, wondering if Dean could feel that Sam's heart was beating so hard and fast that it felt as if it were attempting to jump out of his chest.

His dick felt huge and it seemed to grow even more when he started to move, tentatively at first, but then he couldn't hold back. Pulling almost out and then sliding all the way in again, Dean's rim provided the most exquisite caress in one second, then clenched around him like a steel trap the next second when Dean convulsed through yet another climax.

Sam dug his knees into the mattress, so he could thrust deeper prolong it for his brother. Dean shook and moaned, although Sam was sure he hadn't even touched his prostate yet. He pulled out again and rolled his hips until he thought he'd found the right angle: suddenly, Dean screamed at the top of his lungs and his hips lifted off the bed. Sam kept pounding into him with as much strength as he had to give, aware that this was the final run to drain Dean's grossly swollen gland.

Where Dean had gone through a series of individual peaks before, he was now writhing and convulsing while Sam felt one gush of hot semen after the other hit his stomach. The sensation on his dick was close to overwhelming him, but he forced himself to hold back. Tears coursed down his face with the effort, dripping onto Dean's face that was wild with his ongoing climax.

"Dean, please," Sam sobbed. "Gotta cum so bad! Please tell me you're ready! I can't hold on much longer!"

* * *

Sam blinked like he'd forgotten where he was, who he was. As gone as Dean was himself, he took a second to appreciate on what Sam must be feeling, that first full slide into his lover's body, the joining of them as one. The shock didn't last long – dark lashes lowered and snapped open again, while Sam snapped his hips once, and again, and instinct took over. 

When Dean had wished for 'full', he didn't even know what he'd been asking for. Sam bottomed out on the first thrust, drew back, plunged in again and again, going deeper yet. The sensations overwhelmed him yet again: the stuffed-full-and-more invasiveness of his brother's cock up his ass to the hilt, the unrelenting clench of his rim, Sam's balls slapping against him totally the opposite of how he'd gotten used to it, and just the knowledge that he was being fucked... He'd told himself 'never' but with Sam, it was everything he'd always sensed, that he'd love being taken, that which for him had only been associated with shame and pain. 

There was pain, but the good kind. Sam rutted into him like a wild thing, faster, letting go of any restraint, all the muscles in his powerful body working toward one goal, to get them off. Another thrust, another angle; Sam's dick prodded his prostate hard. Fluid squirted between them and Dean screamed. Keen eyes blown wide pinned him, while the body ground in again, an exact repeat of the angle, speed and depth. Incoherent, Dean yelped and begged, sticky clear and white flowing, till Sam sped up and fucking milked him. Made his body give up the excess, cleaned him out while stuffing him full. 

"Any time, Sam," he croaked. "Show me how much you love me. Your jizz. In me. Gonna feel so good..." Once the climax started, with the incredible body and presence of his lover on him and in him, it rolled on and on. Dean's lungs seized up, his heavy-laden balls turned inside out, and he was cumming all over them again. The force of it hit him like a live wire. The last thing he remembered, besides the endless sprays of his own thick spunk, was the hot mess deep inside that meant Sam had finally found his way to the ultimate release, just as Dean had. 

His vision darkened and he knew no more. 


	3. Chapter 3

When Sam woke up, he was lying on top of his brother – who was deeply asleep and didn't stir otherwise. Sam tried to move but found that although his arms, legs, and head were free, his trunk was stuck to Dean's so fast that it was almost as if they were welded together.

Slowly, his memories returned. Dean had been attacked by the Mega-Snake – or whatever – that lurked in the waters. The snake poison – or, again, whatever – had caused an extreme swelling of his prostate, leading to a fevered frenzy of sex that hadn't abated for hours.

At first, Dean had rubbed himself off against the Impala's seat. Then, he'd fucked Sam until Sam's ass and Dean's dick had both been too sore to be touched. Sam had resorted to prostate stimulation, which was when he'd come up with the theory that the gland needed to be drained before Dean would be back to normal. 

In the end, Dean had begged Sam to 'take' him. After initial deep-rooted insecurity, Sam had complied. As soon as he'd finally slid into his brother, there'd been no stopping for either of them. Sam remembered Dean screaming and writhing under him; then the intensity of his own climax had blown him away. 

He must have passed out, and so, apparently, had Dean – maybe not only from the intensity alone but also from sheer exhaustion: Sam had lost count of how many times Dean had cum, but it was every few seconds to every few minutes over a period of four or five hours. His brain was too sluggish to do the math, but he should be surprised that Dean was still alive.

Attempting to move again, Sam gave up immediately as he didn't want to wake his brother. They'd been sticky after sex before, woken up glued together by dried spunk, and only managed to free themselves by sacrificing some body hair, but this was different. The squelching noises between them every time Dean had released indicated amounts of dried fluids Sam didn't want to think about, but had to. If Dean had in fact shot these huge amounts, Sam feared that he must be severely dehydrated by now. 

"Dean," he whispered but got no reaction. "Dean!" Sam hissed a little louder, but, again, nothing. He was starting to get worried. Some of the attack victims had suffered from extreme electrolyte imbalance when they'd been admitted to the hospital. Taking Dean to the ER wasn't on Sam's agenda yet – they both hated hospitals –, and how on earth could he explain to the paramedics what had happened in their room? – but he needed to wake his brother up.

"Sorry, man," he said, apologizing not only to Dean but also to himself. He rolled them over on the side. Then, after inhaling deeply, Sam tore himself away from Dean, yowling when the better part of his chest and pubic hair ripped out and stayed on his brother's body.

* * *

In near-darkness, Dean was jolted out of deep sleep by a sharp yank that pulled what felt like half the hairs leading down from his navel, and at his groin, out by the roots. He was too out of it to do more than moan, a less than human sound. Also, his mouth felt like it was lined with sandpaper. Assuring himself of Sam's presence in the room first, he dropped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dean jerked hard, but he was immediately out again. Sam's worry increased. "Dean!" He slapped his brother's face, but nothing happened. He almost wished that Dean had woken up swinging. A black eye would suck, but it was better than the growing threat of having to call an ambulance.

Deciding he needed to pee, Sam got up from the bed, but a sharp pain on his chest and abdomen stopped him from standing. Shit, the skin and remaining hair, although he'd torn loose from Dean, everything was still glued together on him. A look at Dean's chest made his eyes widen with disbelief at the sheer amount of dried spunk. 

Hunched over, he made his way to the bathroom. A quick shower didn't help; it took a lot of soaking with warm water before the crusts began to slowly soften so that he could scrub them off his body. Armed with a glass of water and a wet towel – the largest he could find – Sam returned to the bedroom. He placed the towel on Dean to soak the dried semen, then shook his shoulder none too gently.

"Dean," he pleaded urgently. "You need to drink. If you don't wake up now I'll have to take you to the hospital."

* * *

"Whaaaa-?" Dean surfaced again to someone – Sam – roughly shaking him. He was wet and warm all over his front. Oh, shit, what if he'd peed the bed? No wonder Sam was annoyed. Cracking one eyelid, he looked fearfully down his torso. Wet towel? 

Drink? Okay...

"Where's the JD?" he mumbled, casting about. Dean seemed to remember drinking about half of the fifth Sam had found in his stuff. Moving his arms produced a weird cracking and tugging sensation on his skin, as if someone had brushed egg white all over him and let it dry. No, it wasn't that, it was... 

And he remembered. Not everything, but enough. It was semen. His. And it was everywhere. Other than his lower legs, it was as if he'd been dipped in it. Besides that, his dick was raw – _rubbed_ raw – his balls felt like they'd been steamrollered, there was a deep, throbbing ache low in his pelvis and his ass hurt. The dryness of his mouth was worse than Death Valley in high summer. 

"Sammy..." Dean beaded on his brother for confirmation that his memory was correct and it was Sam, and only Sam, who'd penetrated him. He made to get up, only to flop back on the sticky bed covers. "No hospital! Water..." 

* * *

The moment Dean asked for JD, Sam's relief was so great that he almost broke into helpless laughter. He stopped himself just in time so as not to startle his clearly bedazzled brother even more than he already was.

"Yeah, it's me, _Sam,_ " he teased. As much as he loved it when Dean called him by the nickname from their childhood, he'd never admit it. "And here's water for you. Let me help." He'd set the glass on the nightstand before attempting to shake Dean awake so it wouldn't spill. 

When Dean made to sit up, Sam stopped him. "Dude, your 'stuff' has dried into solid armor. I've started soaking it but try not to use your abs and pecs until it's softened. Trust me," he grimaced, "I've been there. A Brazilian wax is nothing compared to this." If Dean was anywhere near his old self he wouldn't be able to resist this prompt.

Sam pulled his brother up into a sitting position and handed him the glass. "Here, and there's plenty more where it came from. We need to get you rehydrated."

* * *

"What do you know about Brazilian waxes?" Dean wondered aloud. "Or is that a hint – aren't I smooth enough for you?" He allowed Sam to help him sit up, wincing at all the pulling and cracking. The cup of water was a lifeline, and he downed it in two seconds flat. 

"Guess I could shave m'self bald," he sniggered. It was a fact that they both kept themselves groomed up well, when they weren't specifically hunting; just one of those things they didn't really talk about. "Gonna need more water, man... feels like I've been out in the desert for a month."

Speaking of things they weren't talking about, Dean went on, his voice a croaking parody of its usual quality, "What the hell? I got attacked by the monster, I think it was a man-sized snake. It dragged me into the lake, tried to down me. Next thing I know, I'm in the car, uh, creaming myself, and the seat, then we... Impossible how many... Geez." He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. "I got infected or whatever, huh? How many times did we do it? I lost track." 

Sam's eyes tracked down his naked, sticky body, the same body that had somehow produced enough come to cover them, and had gone on and on, repeating the human reproductive act like someone had rewired him to keep going till he passed out or died. It was embarrassing, in retrospect. Yeah, Dean loved sex, loved his brother and being with him. Whatever happened, Sam apparently didn't hate him for it, but it was disconcerting to have been so out of control. 

* * *

"I guess I know as much about Brazilian waxes as you do: they hurt like fuck," Sam said dryly. "As for being smooth, we're both smooth like babies' butts. Now and for a while at least."

He watched Dean emptying the glass in record time and took it from his brother's hands. "I'll get you more water in five minutes. You need fluids but it won't help if you if you puke them up, so let's go a little slow here. Meanwhile, the crusts can soak until you feel up for a shower." He scrunched his nose. "You reek."

* * *

"Thanks a lot." Dean couldn't even retort that Sam reeked too, since he had cleaned up already. "'Crusts.' Good word for it. So gross." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, but didn't try to stand. His head spun.

They might as well discuss the case while he was half-awake. Sleeping a lot was definitely on the menu for the next day. "I don't suppose the snake or whatever was still around when you found me? When we talk to other witnesses, we're gonna need to ask more specific questions about what they saw, or like, what it felt like." Unable to suppress a hard shudder, Dean added, "It didn't bite me, there was just all that slime. I think it licked me, or spit on me. My mouth. Urgh! Any idea what kind of thing does that?" 

* * *

"Whoa, careful there!" Sam saw the color leave Dean's face when he sat up. "Maybe you should rest a bit more before attempting a shower. Of course, I'll pick you up if you faint, but..." He stopped and grinned. The look on his brother's face told him that Dean's head was recovering quicker than his body. 

There was no question, however, that Dean wouldn't wait to get into the shower, even if he had to crawl. It wasn't only the insane amount of dried semen he needed to get rid of, but also the remaining slime. Strangely enough, Sam had managed to ignore the disgusting substance while taking care of Dean's urges, but now that Dean had reminded him of it, Sam almost choked on the smell.

"Sirens administer their poison by spitting or otherwise getting their saliva into their victims' system, but from your description I gather it wasn't exactly a charming guy or gal kissing you," Sam commented dryly. "And whatever it was had left by the time I found you. So, no clue. On the flip side, I got a functioning computer again."

He glanced at his watch. "And it's been five minutes. If you're a good boy and lay down again I'll fetch more water." Sam grinned at his brother, expecting him to snort or bristle, and went to the bathroom with the empty glass. 

As soon as he'd stepped into the nightmare of weird plants decorating the walls, however, his grin faded. Watching Dean pee would make his heart lighter – not because he had a kink but because it would mean that Dean's kidneys were functioning. Sam had no illusions that the degree of exhaustion and electrolyte imbalance Dean was very likely suffering from could have grave consequences. He'd have to keep a close watch on his brother to make sure he recovered. Since Dean's usual behavior when he was sick or injured was to claim that he was fine, Sam knew he had a demanding task set out for him over the following few days.

"Is there anything else you want from here?" he asked while he waited for the water to run cold.

* * *

"Nah there was no kissing, just me trying not to drown and to get the fuck away from that thing." Slices of what he could recall flashed before Dean's eyes. Hunkering by the water's edge, he'd reached out to touch the surface. Something pulling him under, into the murk. All the tentacles or coils sliding all around him... 

"*Woof!* I'll show you 'good boy'," Dean barked, then harrumphed weakly. While he'd been zoning out, Sam walked away from him, still naked. The alternating flex and roll of the muscled butt cheeks snagged his eyes. Those had to be one – or two – of the wonders of the modern world. Most atypically, though his brain appreciated the view, not even the slightest twitch flickered between his legs. That wasn't normal. Dean frowned. No, he hadn't expected to be able to get it up; he didn't want to. Just... Nothing? If the snake poison had neurological effects like that, he'd rather die. 

"No, I don't need anything else from in there, unless you've thought of a way to transplant the shower to the bed." Inane-sounding or not, Dean would have killed for a shower right then. Sam was right. He stank. And it _itched_. Being in contact with the slime still on Dean's skin mustn't have had any effect on Sam. He was alert, almost chirpy, and no more sexually, hm... 

What was Sam, in that arena, anyway? Needy was what he'd been as a teenager – going from shy about his body to aggressive and demanding, but he was also amazingly giving, naturally or learned, as they progressed in their secret affair. Those words all still applied, but they had an entirely different flavor now. The adult Sam was quietly confident, patient, passionate. A while back, Dean would have described him as repressed, but that was far from the truth. With words, looks, a few touches, he could have Dean aching for him. Usually, the mere thought of the things they did sent half the blood in Dean's body on a southward screaming luge ride... Nope, still nothing. 

They'd have to make do with research. Right when they'd been on the edge of a breakthrough before was when Sam's laptop had crapped out. And since he'd mentioned it, they now had a little more intel.

"Hey Sam, what's the hold-up? You needing some special alone time or something? Can I watch?" This came out sarcastic – their love life didn't leave much need for that these days. In fact, Dean had never seen the 20-something version of his brother wanking. 

Well, he'd just have to help himself to more water. Not badly yet, he had to pee anyway, and by the way his back ached around his kidneys, Dean could tell it was going to be super-concentrated. So shaky he had to lean on the wall, Dean tottered a couple steps toward the bathroom.

* * *

"Transport the shower to the bed, huh?" Sam smirked although Dean couldn't see him. "How about a dustbin filled with cold water?" he offered, then hurried to add, "I'll help you with the shower in a few minutes. Let's just get some more water _in_ you first."

When Dean spoke next, he sounded closer to Sam, and his question made the younger Winchester blush – which surprised him. With all the sex they had, in particular after the marathon of the past few hours, why on earth was he embarrassed by Dean's insinuation that Sam still hadn't had enough? Even worse, why did the suggestion that he need some alone time make his dick swell?

Sam started turning to face his brother and realized at the last second that he was buck naked. However, as soon as his eyes fell on Dean, they narrowed and he was suddenly convinced that Dean hadn't noticed anything. How was he even managing to stay on his feet? Not caring about his semi any longer, Sam set the filled glass on the sink and took the three steps that separated him from Dean, catching his weaving form only a second before he collapsed.

"...the fuck, Dean!" Sam yelled at him. "Lemme guess, you're really fine and you just want a shower?"

* * *

The bathroom wallpaper was even more hideous than that in their room, but Dean didn't really register it when he looked up and noticed Sam standing there in all his naked glory. And ha, he'd been right. Sam's face and cock were both blushing pink, the latter just in the middle of its signature roll to the right before it rose up proper. He'd been running a cup of water, but he set it down on the edge of the sink when he spotted Dean creeping like a toddler learning to walk, along the wall. 

Naturally, his knees and balance gave out just then, dammit. Beyond spying on his little brother, Dean really did want to clean up. Sam had hastened over to hold him up, reaching Dean in three or four long steps. He couldn't complain about the strong arms and firm body against and around him, although he was probably just redistributing the reek to his brother again. "Yeah, 'course 'm fine, just a little drained." That was for sure! 

"My skin feels too hot, and like ants are crawling all over it," he tried to explain. That, and the crusty, slimy coatings that crunched, pulled, and oozed, depending on which area of his body, were driving him nuts. That sounded more like psychosis than anything physical, he was sure. "Gotta wash this crud off. So unless you wanna give me a sponge bath, maybe you'll need to brace me up a little in the shower."

Dean could see he wasn't fooling Sam in the least, and he needed to lean heavily on him or fall over. They made their way back to the bathroom, taking triple the steps and a lot more time. Ignoring the jaunty bounce of his little brother's semi-hard cock was impossible. Dean found himself staring. "Maybe... When we get in there, in the shower you could," suddenly he too was pinking up in the face, "show me how you do it, when you take care of yourself. I'll even sit. Hands to myself." 

His breathing hitched. Dean licked his lips at the thought of Sam's hand flying over his own massive hard-on, touching all the special spots, all at eye level. No one would know better than Sam himself the perfect pace and amount of pressure to use. Dean Jr. was still out cold, but it didn't matter. "You... can, will, stroke yourself, finger yourself, just like you did all those years, thinking about me. Only now, I'll be here watching."

* * *

"Um, err..." Sam had intended to ask more about Dean's health, but his brother's distraction strategy worked as it always did. How was it possible for Sam to blush when all his blood had rushed downstairs? 

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said firmly, addressing not only Dean but also his manhood, which completely ignored him other than hardening even more. Not a twitch came from Dean's groin, but Sam hadn't really expected it. He shuddered, imagining how sore Dean's dick must be. _And his hole,_ Sam's brain reminded him. Shit, their first time Sam taking Dean had really happened, and under the worst set of circumstances. If there ever was a passion-killing thought, this would have been it, but Sam's erection wasn't impressed.

Mind over matter, Sam reprimanded himself. "Okay, dude, let's get you into the shower."

* * *

In the bathroom, Sam leaned him against the wall. Telling himself he was fine, Dean over-extended himself and nearly fell again when he tried to turn on the water. Vertigo spun him, and he thumped against the wall, not daring another move. "Dammit," he huffed but waited for Sam to do it.

"Can't do anything, or fall on my ass. Which is kinda sore, by the way," Dean added. Besides being helpless as an extremely uncoordinated small child, he was loopy from leftover alcohol and dehydration that he could feel in his mouth, eyes, skin, and as he'd noticed before, kidneys. "I never thought I'd want that again, much less be able to. You know. Let you do me." If he kept his head from shaking or nodding or otherwise moving, he could balance alright. 

It had been his suggestion – demand, in fact. After so many rounds, Sam couldn't take any more of the reverse, though he was too stubborn to say so when he had determined that Dean needed to keep going until he got the poisons out, so to speak. Since he hadn't fought it, either at first or as it continued, like some of the other victims' partners must have, he wasn't covered in bruises and scratches. There were some, there always were: marks of their intense love. He eyed his brother again, under the harsh fluorescent light. Trying to ignore his not-so-little problem was making it not-so-littler. "You must have picked up some of that venom, from contact. Or having complete control of my ass was an aphrodisiac. So, enlarged prostate, huh? I believe the word was 'ginormous'. What are we talking here: tangerine? Orange? Bowling ball?" 

He had to wince. The question was mainly banter but he wanted to know. For one thing, anything weird going on with his body was something he didn't care to shove under the rug. If it had happened to Dean, it likely had happened to the others, too. "So, I can see how, with men, the infection settles there and the dude has to, I dunno, relieve the pressure, which makes him rabidly horny. But what about women?" Glancing again at his brother's groin, he leered. The little eye winked right back. 

* * *

A flush of guilt spread through Sam when Dean mentioned that his ass was sore. "Yeah, um, about that... Sorry for not prepping you better... I'm... kinda big..." he grimaced. "And I really shouldn't have done that. Only... well, we needed to get you... drained..."

No amount of hemming and hawing would keep Sam's erection from happily bouncing and bobbing against his belly. Maybe Dean was right and he had indeed picked up some of the venom from the slime on his brother's body – he refused to believe that it was from finally being allowed to 'have' Dean's ass. Although he'd announced earlier that he wanted a repeat once Dean was clear of the poison, Sam now swore to himself he'd never do it again. Dean being sore was bad enough, but what he said about not wanting that again or being able to...

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered as he pulled Dean into the shower stall with himself. If he'd gotten any venom on himself he'd better wash again, and being in the shower, despite being uncomfortably close to Dean, he could at least help them both scrub off every single trace of the vile stuff.

"Do you need help with washing?"

* * *

"Dude, don't be sorry!" Dean protested. "If I didn't want it, it would never have happened. And Sam," he tilted his head a little, but had to stop himself. "You prepped me just fine. Hell, I think I came, what, twice, just from that. Now stop pouting, you get sore, too. It happens." He couldn't believe that after everything they'd done, how it had ended with Dean on his back, wide open, cumming on Sam's dick till he passed out, that he'd get all... sorrowful.

"Forgot how you can be a moody bitch. Don't. Help me wash, then I'll help you. Or watch you." Dean flashed a grin. "Your call." 

* * *

Tempted to stick out his tongue at his brother, Sam refrained from doing it. He really didn't need to provide more ammo. How was it possible that Dean, barely able to stand on his own feet, still came up with enough brain capacity to annoy the hell out of Sam?

"I'm not pouting," he said and made a point out of setting his lips in what could in no way be interpreted as a pout. _And I'm neither moody nor bitchy,_ he wanted to add, but it would just have proved Dean's point.

Instead, Sam picked up the soap and one of the smaller towels which he'd use as a washcloth; scrubbing the mess off Dean's body with hands alone wouldn't do. As soon as he'd helped his brother get clean, he'd wash himself again thoroughly to make sure they'd both be clear of the slimy substance. It was the only way he could think of to lay the horniness to rest.

As it was covered only in slime but not so much semen, Sam started with Dean's back. How he loved the tiny freckles! Sam had always admired them, but they'd never before appeared so erotic before. Suddenly, he interrupted himself. Erotic was one thing, but why did he have a hard-on after having cum several times, and Dean didn't showing a reaction at all? And what about his own prostate?

Biting his lip, Sam continued to wash Dean's back.

* * *

One of the reasons Dean had been so promiscuous earlier in his life was that he craved touch – doing the touching to a willing partner as well as being touched. It tended to turn sexual, because he was just wired that way. Hands, of course, were the primary means, but Dean also liked to use his mouth. The feel of skin under his fingers or lips took him to places that freed him. When it came to someone else touching him, when he loved and wanted that person, whatever form it came in, he soaked it up appreciatively, for it bolstered his sense of being worth someone's time and attention, not for what he did, but in who he was. 

Since his junk was more or less dead at the moment, Dean braced his forearms against the wall, bowed his head between them, and absorbed both the water through his parched hide and the touch of Sam's hands into his very being.

His brother took such care. With soap and a cloth, he cleaned every inch of Dean's back and shoulders. Warm breath gusted over the short hair at back of his neck. The swirl of the slippery foam and soft cloth was hypnotic; Dean felt himself subtly following, trying to get more contact. 'Down', he urged silently, and Sam, right behind and looming over him, washed as far down as his lower back. At the sensitive curve of his lumbar vertebrae, fingers and the wet cloth licked across the spot that made Dean unable to _not_ arch and hiss in a breath. His right butt cheek brushed lightly against Sam's erection, hot and alive with pulsing blood. 

It wasn't exactly arousal he was experiencing, more like the strong physical attraction and connection between himself and Sam. He shouldn't be thinking about sex, Dean was more than aware. He'd had more than was humanly possible, in the last several hours. They needed to solve the case, and kill the monster. Besides, his body was not responding, far too exhausted. 

His mind, on the other hand... "You probably got a bunch of this spit, or slime, on yourself, from touching me," Dean said, thinking aloud. "Maybe that's why you're up for more right now. A much milder version of what I got hit with. You should let... I should check your prostate, too, Sammy." The hands stilled on him. "Or you could. 'Cuz maybe you need a little extra kick when you're jacking it. Always did like something up there." 

* * *

What was it with Dean and his suggestion that Sam should 'take care of himself'? It had begun with subtle hints, but now it really sounded as if Dean was going to insist on watching him beating off. Sam blushed even more – was there even a superlative of beet-red? 

"It isn't what you think," he said. "I mean, I'm hard." _Admit that which couldn't be denied._ "But I'm not like, uh, craving. Just hard." Maybe this wasn't the whole truth, there was want, and lots of it, but not the kind of urge Dean had had earlier. 

Still, the idea of having Dean's loving fingers caress the incredible pleasure spot deep inside him made Sam shiver. "If you think it's my prostate, well, I suppose you could make sure it's okay once we got the slime off."

Trying to think of a way to distract his brother from the embarrassing topic, Sam couldn't find one. Well, he'd been through so many situations with Dean winding him up, he'd survive this one as well. 

"Spread your legs," Sam said, "I'm gonna wash your crack." Leaning in closer, he whispered, "Don't be scared, I'll be very gentle and careful." There. Let Dean compute that. His response would also give Sam a clue as to whether his brother was okay with having bottomed earlier. 

Although Sam tried to ignore his arousal, he had to swallow hard in order to suppress a groan when his eyes fell on Dean's hole. It was red and puffy from the recent use, but Sam felt magically drawn toward it. 

"Please, Dean," he gasped, ready to kneel behind his brother. "Can I... Please, may I lick you?"

* * *

"When you say 'craving', you mean the way you used it with the Binghams, right? So, you don't think it's that," mused Dean. "It's just your average inappropriate boner. Or morning wood. Or no, can't be, you pissed." Which reminded him, he hadn't, but it still wasn't urgent, which, given that they were in the shower, was extremely strange. "If your prostate's enlarged, that would have been difficult, or so I hear."

Dean didn't think it was any of the above – Sam was in denial for some odd, unknown reason. He had no time to ponder it further; Sam asked him to spread his legs so he could wash his asscrack. For Sam to use forthright language, he had to be annoyed, in dire need of release, or both. Both, Dean guessed, since his directive included a semi-mocking 'don't be scared.' 

"The only thing I'm scared of is falling on my face." Dean shuffled his feet an inch at a time into a wider stance. Sam's stare burned into him, those keen eyes taking in his ass, his used hole, and his bowlegs: noticeable in jeans, but here they had to look like parentheses. He couldn't help remembering how it felt to have Sam notched between them, how they curved so perfectly around his brother's flanks when he fucked him. In the end, Dean had had to use their considerable strength to pull Sam into himself. God, it had been a rush, the crazy desire mixed with love and pain, potent as all hell.

Now Sam offered to lick him, and not just anywhere. Finally, Dean's dick gave one weak little twitch. He groaned, imagining the soft, wet stroking, or the tip poking inside. The one time he'd allowed it, Sam had had him writhing and moaning on his tongue like a little bitch. At the time, he'd cum so hard he'd passed out, and he'd hurt his brother in telling him never again. Later the same day, or the next day, they'd – he'd – ended their physical relationship. All that negativity still boiled below the surface of the mere suggestion, and Sam knew it. They'd shattered their other reservations with each other; why not this one?

"I'm not saying no," he breathed, "but... It's far beyond me right now to stand once you get your tongue on me. Please, finish washing and then yeah, if that's what you want. I'll let you." Hell, Dean didn't even know if he could cum, but it seemed like Sam needed it, and Sam deserved to have whatever he wanted.

* * *

Was Dean trying to embarrass him on purpose? "I haven't had problems pissing," he explained, wondering why he felt the urge to defend himself. "So I wouldn't know about my prostate being enlarged, inappropriate boner or not." If Dean considered it inappropriate, why did he keep taunting Sam and suggesting getting off?

Then Dean said he was scared of falling, and Sam sobered immediately. "Rain check accepted. Just stay as you are and let me take care of you. Brace yourself against the wall and tell me if it gets to be too much – preferably _before_ you crash, please." Sam didn't think the warning was out of place. His stubborn brother usually refused to admit to being injured, and Sam had had to peel him off the floor or other places too many times.

He slung the wet towel over his shoulder and used only his hands to gently clean Dean's cleft. There was dried cum everywhere, but the warm water had softened it so that Sam could brush it off with gentle finger strokes. Dean gave no reaction, and Sam went on his knees so he could wash Dean's lower body.

There was something about Dean's legs that made Sam want to kiss along them. Dean sometimes bitched about them being bowed but Sam thought they were a part of his brother, and therefore perfect.

"Can you raise your foot without falling?" Sam asked, pulling his mind off the legs but getting sidetracked by the arch of Dean's foot. "Or should I do your feet last with you sitting down?"

* * *

Delay in other festivities established, Sam still washed him thoroughly. Dean tried not to move as thick fingers moved up his crack, over his sore hole, down to the loose skin at the back of his balls where there were thicker coatings, more layers of goo. Dean could tell the difference when all the crusted semen was finally gone, and breathed easier. 

"I'd better sit, for the feet," Dean responded when Sam mentioned them. "Hard enough to stay standing on two." By then, Sam had lowered himself to his knees, for better access. It was really kind of... uncomfortable, since Dean couldn't get it up and Sam was the one with a hard-on, which he apparently had no plans to do anything about. "Uh, I'm not propositioning you right now, but I need my front washed, too. It's the worse mess. Or you can hand me the soap if you'd rather not." He needed two feet, but one hand propping himself up should be enough.

* * *

"I'll get to your front in a minute. Until then, keep your hands on the wall and stop whining already," Sam teased. It was only when he drew back at a little distance from Dean, intending to administer a slap on his butt cheek, that his eyes widened: his brother's body was covered in bruises.

"Dean," he said slowly. "That snake did more than mess with your prostate. You look like you went through several rounds with a sasquatch. The sex hormones must have masked the pain, but are you seriously still claiming that you're fine?" He reached out and applied gentle pressure to one of the bruises on Dean's hip. "'Cause these look pretty painful to me."

* * *

"Fine, fine." Dean hadn't moved his hands yet, and he left his arms against the tile wall. "Gimme some of the good drugs, I'll be alright. And I did go several rounds with a sasquatch – you." 

A few bruises weren't going to bother him, he told himself, or what kind of pansy-ass was he? Looking down, he saw deep black-and-blue where Sam was touching, and at various other places. His wrists for example, and probably his calves and neck by the feel. "That might have been the snake. At the time, I couldn't tell if it was tentacles or coils, but whichever, they wrapped around me tight and squeezed, and they slid around..." He shuddered again. "I think it stuck its tail down my pants." 

That sounded ridiculous, but it had freaked him the hell out at the time. 

* * *

"I'll get you something for pain as soon as we're done in here," Sam said. He finished washing Dean's legs, pressed kisses in the crooks of both knees, and stood.

"Turn around now, and you can lean against the shower wall while I finish your front. Shall I start with your hair or do you want that done last?"

* * *

"Hair first." Dean's legs weren't going to cooperate forever, he could tell. His hair was filthy with lake water, sweat, slime, and of course, spunk. Vaguely he recalled shooting far over his head. Shit, it was probably all over the wall by the bed. Talk about party tricks. If this situation weren't so fucked up, he'd have been proud. 

It felt so good to get all the crud out of his hair that Dean moaned aloud. Sam's short nails scritching at his itchy scalp produced the best little frissons of pleasure, making Dean's nipples pull tight and stand at attention. "Thanks, that's so much better." 

The worst of the mess splattered him from neck to groin. Dean noticed clumps of Sam's hairs stuck to him and winced in sympathy. Some of his had been yanked out, too, but then he had none on his chest. "Sorry about that," he gestured. "Stings like a bitch, huh?"

* * *

Dean leaned back against the shower wall and Sam poured shampoo in his hands and worked up a lather. Washing his brother's hair was easier than the other way around because Sam was the taller of the two, but more often it was Dean taking care of Sam. Sam smiled. It felt good for once to be able to return the favor.

"Venomous or not, I bet it feels good to be clean of this stuff. Maybe I should keep a sample from the bedsheets for Bobby's collection," Sam suggested. He didn't miss how Dean's nipples stiffened, but there was no reaction from below. Apparently, Dean was more than drained.

It had been a good idea to soak the crusted spunk-and-mud-mix with a wet towel earlier. Scrubbing as carefully as he could, Sam still was sure that Dean's chest would be sore later. His own stung, just like Dean had suggested, and the stinging turned worse in that moment, as if it were reminded to hurt. "Yep, stings like a bitch," Sam confirmed. "As you will know in a minute when I get to your treasure trail. Lucky you for not having chest hair, but I'm afraid some of those lovely curls down there didn't make it."

He continued washing Dean's chest and asked, "Once we're done here and I get you a couple painkillers, would you sleep for some time while I go ask at the hospital whether they gave Phil a prostate exam?"

* * *

"Urgh!" Dean grinned anyway. "Well, try to just get a sample of the snake stuff without any of our 'stuff' mixed in. That's more information than I want Bobby to have." He considered it possible that their friend and mentor had figured things out. That didn't mean he wanted Bobby – or anyone – to get ahold of any hard evidence of their relationship. If sibling incest wasn't such a social taboo, even between consenting adults, he wouldn't have bothered hiding that his partner was male. But it was. 

Sam's plan gave him a chuckle, too. It must be similar to adrenaline wearing off, only stronger, that he was all limp and giggly. That wasn't 'him' at all. "Believe me, I'll sleep like a rock. But I hope you have a few more questions beyond, did they do a prostate check. Speaking of which, yours. And," he deliberately glanced down, "are you planning to threaten them with your loaded gun there?" 

He gritted his teeth at the sting of the soap as Sam washed down his belly, over his love line, and then his pubes. No reaction or not, he loved Sam handling his private parts and didn't hesitate to tell his brother so. "Your touch never gets old, Sammy. Love how you treat my balls with such affection and adoration." 

* * *

"Well, I'm going to try for a copy of the complete medical files," Sam replied. "See if there's something in Phil's and the others' blood that shouldn't be there. And no, I'm not suggesting taking a sample of yours. As for the sample for Bobby, maybe I should have thought of that earlier. Now with only your treasure trail left it'll be near impossible to not catch your swimmers, too. Maybe they retained some goo at the hospital, I'll check for that, too."

Sam soaped up the wash cloth again and alternated wiping Dean's navel and sluicing it with the – amazingly still – warm water. "I love your balls so I take care of them," he tried to shrug Dean's comments off with a joke. As much as he'd like to kiss them, Sam knew that even the lightest touch to the abused glands were likely to be excruciating. Still, he needed to get the crusts off, as well as off his brother's dick that had to be at least as sore as his balls. After cleaning, he'd apply some ointment, but for now the only way to make this less traumatic was a good distraction. Sam could only think of one topic that might serve.

"Um, you suggested I have my prostate checked as well. I needn't tell you what your finger down there will do to my 'loaded gun', right?"

* * *

Alright, full medical records. "We know that there've been other victims, we just haven't located anyone else to talk to yet. Maybe you can scrounge up something... Hack the system and run a comparison of symptoms or something." Sam was probably way ahead of him on that, being more computer-savvy. "Well, you know what to do. Did you say you met the resident geek?" Sometimes high-IQ, highly technical computer nerds were sticklers for the rules, and sometimes they were subversive hackers who got a thrill over breaking into whatever they weren't supposed to. 

Maybe Sam was getting over himself, since he played along with Dean's typically bad pun. "Sorta counting on that... Better me than some quack, right? You can't go out like that. What if it accidentally went off?" Leering, Dean waggled his eyebrows. "Better let Dr. Winchester safely discharge your weapon for you. Or, hm, maybe I should call myself a gunsmith." 

* * *

"Oh yes, that's the good news I haven't even told you. The guy got the computer working again." Sam refrained from mentioning the reason why it had died on him. He'd keep that tidbit for later. "I'll ask the Docs first and if they don't hand over the charts, I'm sure I can twist Chad's, that's the geek's, arm into helping me out again." Sam grinned. "One of the quacks told me to tell Chad to help me, so I'll simply extend that request."

While he was speaking, he'd begun washing Dean's dick and balls, trying to ignore the hisses and sharp intakes of breath. It had to be done, and the sooner it was over the better for both of them.

"So," Sam picked up the conversation and hopefully distraction again. "Although I don't think my, uh, 'Winchester' will go off on its own, it might draw attention. I'd rather have you take care of it than someone from the hospital. So tell me, Dr. Winchester, what exactly are you suggesting by way of examination and treatment?"

* * *

They'd never really indulged in role play or fantasy, not yet. The physical side of their love was new, strong, and when they did talk between rounds, it had usually been based on memories of good times and bad. Dean found Sam's offer of make-believe arousing, and he dropped his voice, knowing his brother got off it. 

"Dr. Winchester, if he was a real doctor, would probably snap on latex gloves and not bother to warm the KY. He'd bend you over the nearest flat surface and insert his index finger, palpating the gland for approximately sixty seconds in small circular motions, checking the lobes for any lumps or tumors. Before he concluded the exam, he'd collect a droplet of the fluid pressed out of the urethral opening for a PSA test. " 

Here, Dean, as himself, overlapped into any medical play. "Only, I'd go a lot more slowly, and I'd slide my finger into your pink little hole smoothly, all slick with lube. I'd feel all the way around your rim and then your insides. Because you're so incredibly susceptible to the gland being touched as a primary form of stimulation, I'd have to space out quick and light explorations of the boundaries to prevent you from ejaculating during the exam."

In the shower mist, Dean looked up into his panting brother's glazed eyes. "Once I was satisfied that your prostate was normal, walnut-sized, roughly triangular in shape with two appreciable lobes with a notch between, I wouldn't hesitate to get up in there with more fingers or my dick and stroke that sweet spot, make it drool from your slit, till you can't hold back and nut yourself all over whatever's below you."

Jesus, he was on a roll. Not being able to get it up was going to drive him insane! Shaky, he continued, "Or, if I found your prostate was swollen, I'd try to express the trapped fluid. Worked on me, should with you, too. I'd fuck into you, every prod into or slide across aimed at milking that sweet Sammy-cream from deep inside." 

* * *

"Latex gloves, urgh, those would ensure my gun to jam," Sam shuddered and laughed. "Thanks, but no thanks, man. I'll settle for you rather than Dr. Winchester."

Seeing Dean behaving like his old self meant that the crisis was over and it made Sam not only giddy with relief but also rock hard and dripping with desire. He finished cleaning his brother's male parts and sluiced more water over them. Then he cocked his head and asked, "Just wondering, now that you have me all hard and drooling over your suggestions, are you going to come through with them?"

* * *

Sam must be over it, whatever was bothering him. For now, at least. "Of course I'll put my money where my mouth is. Or put my mouth somewhere else. Wouldn't leave you hanging, bro. Too late for that, though," Dean chuckled. If anything, Sam's hard-on jutted at a more acute angle than earlier, the red-purple tip had entirely outgrown the foreskin. Wet as they both were, Dean could make out the difference of another sort of wet, shiny with little dribbles running down. 

Sam had finished washing him, and the running water of the shower had taken care of any stray smears. "Let's get out, huh? Before the water turns cold." Dean felt much better now, but still really freaking tired. Grinning a little to himself, he waited for Sam to get out first, just in case. Now wasn't a good time to tempt fate with a cracked skull, not like any time was.

Once out, Dean made sure both feet were firmly planted on the thin mat and reached for a towel. He winced as the fibers brushed over the areas where he'd had hair pulled out, and his junk was more or less untouchable by dubious virtue of overuse and chafing. But it wasn't about him right now. As soon as most of the water was off him, Dean made his way back to the room, flicking his eyes at Sam in invitation. "Alright, time for your treatment." 

* * *

Sam watched as Dean stepped out of the shower, ready to catch him. Although Dean still looked shaken, he made it out without problems and Sam nodded in appreciation. A second later, he frowned when Dean winced at the slightest touch of the towel to his genitals.

"Actually," Sam said, "I think I can hold it for another minute. How about I put some of Charlie's miracle ointment on your parts first? I bet we'd both enjoy my treatment more if you don't hurt as much."

Sam also intended to check Dean's prostate and make sure it had reduced to its normal size, but he thought it wise to not announce his attention, but simply do it when he rubbed cream on his brother's sore hole. Slip a finger inside, a quick graze, and it would be over before Dean could complain.

* * *

Dean pursed his lips, ready to balk, then shrugged. "If you think you can hold it." It would be out of character for his brother to shoot off completely untouched. If the slime had affected him, though, who knew – that's what he was going to check for, after all. Fine, Dean supposed he'd play along, since Sam was obliging him, too. 

"How do you want me?" he asked, standing by the bed, which was wrecked to hell. He could sit, but his hole was in definite need of attention, that was to say, ointment. Or, he could get on all fours, which would make it difficult for Sam to reach his dick if he was behind. Lying on his back could serve for both, only then he'd have to get up again before sleep overwhelmed him like a wet blanket to a spark. 

* * *

Sam's dick jumped at Dean's question as to how Sam 'wanted him'. "Tease much?" he asked dryly. "Well, I think on your side – if your bruises permit it – would give me the best access," he leered.

"And you know what, let's steer clear of this bed. No use showering if you roll in the muck a minute later. Unless you want more sex, of course, but in that case I'd suggest you ask me for it rather than inhale more snake-Viagra. I'll see if I can nick fresh sheets from the cabinets later."

Sam opened their medical kit and withdrew the ointment. "Ready?"

* * *

"Tease? Who, me? I say what I mean, Sam." Dean let his eyes crinkle when he grinned again. 

He turned to the second, unused bed. Typical cheap motel fare, not nearly large enough, covered with an insidious green-and-red swirl pattern that had nothing festive about it. Maybe he wasn't thinking as clearly as he'd thought or had a propensity to return to the scene of the 'crime'. After a second's hesitation to determine how to get into the position Sam suggested without falling on too many bruises, he clambered up onto his hands and knees, then lowered himself to his right side, presenting a view of his backside to his care-giver. "How's that?" 

* * *

"That's fine," Sam said and sat on the foot end of the bed. "As much as this is for pain relief, I appreciate the sight," he smiled. "Okay, try and relax. I'll be gentle."

He squirted a teaspoon of ointment on his left palm and set the tube aside. "I'll start back here, then your balls, and the front." Having announced his plan – part of it, at least – Sam carefully applied salve to Dean's abused hole. The tiny pucker looked even more swollen and puffy than it had seemed in the shower, and Sam bit his lower lip.

"Sorry," he apologized as he picked up some of the meanwhile slightly warmed salve and dabbed it onto Dean's hole as carefully as he could, waiting for the numbing effect to set in. He repeated the procedure with Dean's balls and spoke again.

"Let's give it a minute to work and then I'll apply some more. You doing okay so far? No cravings? Any other side effects?"

* * *

The ointment was soothing, and a moment later, numbing. Sam announced in advance where he'd be touching, so Dean could prepare for it. He didn't need to be – Sam didn't really come into direct contact with his skin, letting the dabs and slicks of the cream do its own work. The oiliness of it on his hole made him cringe a little, but he disguised it by moving his left leg up closer to his chest. With all the thrusting and banging, his sac had literally been tossed, and still stung. 

"Cravings? With you waving your sword around," Dean knew the change in weaponry was a faux pas, but didn't care much if Sam teased him for that, too, "I'm drooling. Upstairs brain only, though. Maybe that's a symptom, temporary dead wood." It had better be temporary. "Tired, no doubt dehydrated just like the others. 

"On the inside, Sam. It's the weirdest thing. Before, it felt like the worst unreachable, unscratchable itch ever. Now I feel all glow-y and... high. Without the 'noids." Saying this, Dean closed his eyes. Maybe he had bashed his head on something, or he maybe he was nuts. "I'd swear I was pregnant with your kid, if that were possible. We... like, bred. Must be an animal thing. Only, why would I be the mother? I must've pumped a gallon of jizz into you." 

Giggling hysterically, Dean flexed his hips, only to have to stop the motion when his raw glans slid along the polyester bedspread. He hissed, "Ow. Little more of that miracle cream here, hey."

* * *

The reference to Sam's 'sword' made him want to giggle. When Dean mentioned having felt pregnant with his kid, Sam didn't know what to say. 'Dead wood' made him want to snort. As if that ever lasted long with them! But then Dean said he was dehydrated, and Sam immediately felt guilt welling up. Here he was, flirting with his brother over how to get him off, completely ignoring Dean's needs!

Torn between running to the bathroom and fetching the glass of water he'd poured before the shower or providing more pain relief to Dean's dick, Sam decided for the latter. It would only take a few seconds. While he very gently took the sore member in his hand and applied the salve in small dabs, his brain processed the thought why he himself had remained erect all this time. Maybe some of the snake slime had indeed rubbed off on him? Not a nice thought!

"Well," Sam tried to sound humorous although he didn't feel like it, "at least your hands and mouth aren't sore, so you're only partially impotent. Now," he wiped the remainder of the ointment on Dean's flank – there were bruises everywhere, so it wasn't even a waste, "I'll get you some water and then more cream."

"Umm..." Sam blushed. "You said you're tired. You don't have to," he looked down his body where his erection curved against his belly. "You know..."

* * *

Dammit, Sam was showing signs of turning all morose on him again. He'd asked for a list of symptoms, it's not like they were his fault! Dean decided to keep the banter moving. "Oh, I know. We need to clean your pipes. No, please don't say 'impotent'! Like you pointed out, my hands and mouth work fine. Don't be trying to weasel out of it unless you really do just wanna show me your," he made the universal hand gesture for jacking off, "technique. An erection is a terrible thing to waste," Dean intoned. "That one is impressive." 

And it was, so upright it was vertical, thick and veined, the entire length livid and sheened with pre-come. Up close, Dean saw the little slit yawn every few minutes to spit out more. Spit. Right. "I believe this started with me needing to check your prostate, to make sure yours isn't affected by the slime." So far, neither of them had brought up how to handle it, if it was. "Now that you've doctored me all up, which do you prefer – lying on your side or ass up?" 

* * *

"Actually, I haven't finished doctoring you up," Sam said and fled to the bathroom. Fetching the water for Dean only gave him a few seconds, but he needed them to regroup his diverging thoughts.

When he returned to the bedroom, he still hadn't decided what to do. He held the glass out to Dean who gulped its content down before Sam could even open his mouth. "Right, I guess you'll need more in a minute. That'll give me enough time to finish anointing you," he grinned. "And then..."

Sam swallowed before he continued haltingly. "Dean... I know you're tired – no, make that exhausted. You really don't have to... bring me off. I'd rather have you checking me out than doing it myself – you know my body better than I do these days – but..." He winced, then blurted out, "Butifyou'drathergonofurtherIcantakecareofmyself..." 

Convinced that he was, once again, flushed beet red, Sam looked down, not daring to meet his brother's eyes. "You... You'd like that, right? Watching me bringing myself off?"

* * *

Dean gulped the water, and looked up at his mumbling brother. The temperature in the room rose several degrees, it seemed to Dean, between Sam's furious blushing and the continuous monster of a boner. The kid couldn't decide what the hell he wanted – time to take some initiative. 

"Yeah, dude," he wheezed. "I wanna see you beat off. I'm gonna check your prostate. Quit stalling already. If you spill then, then you do. And if you can hold out till I'm done, I'm gonna lay here like a lazy ass and watch you stroke it." Moving back, more or less squirming, into the middle of the bed, Dean patted the mattress next to him. " _Now_ , Sam. And give me the lube." 

* * *

_Now, Sam._ Any plan Sam had had for delaying the inevitable by insisting on treating Dean's sore areas was pulverized by his brother's order. 

"O-okay," he gasped. Stretching out next to Dean on the bed, Sam turned on his back, bent his knees, and planted his feet on the mattress. With Dean's eyes on him, Sam suddenly felt the urge to hide, but all he could do was put his hands over his erection, and the touch sent a shudder through his body.

"Just get it over with," he pressed out, torn between his desire to find fulfillment and the urge to flee.

* * *

"Oh, puh-lease," Dean retorted. "Get it over with, my ass. What you mean is," he made his voice higher, breathy, "'Please, Dean, please slide those thick fingers into my quivering, clenching, eager hole and rub my sweet spot till I leak all over myself. Till I just have to stop trying to hide," Dean climbed onto his hands and knees, "that I'm so hard for my brother I can't keep my juices inside, and I gotta," he crawled between Sam's bent, spread legs with their knobby knees pointing at the ceiling, and grabbed the lube, "be such a good boy when you help me milk my pleasure gland, Dean, please, unngh ungh,'" he grunted.

God, why was this turning him on so much? He'd meant it almost as mockery, but who was the fool now? Dean was. Already a habit, a pattern, he slicked up his fingers, the pad of the first at Sam's entrance. It looked well-used, like Dean's supposedly did. "Touching now," he announced. The skin was hot, puffy, the banded muscle below as reactive as ever. Using only the slightest pressure, Dean breached the guardian ring. It was like Sam's body guided him there, the Vee's of his thighs and hipbones, even the soft overhanging pouches of his jewels, the movement was all inward. And then the channel itself – sucked him in. 

"More? Oh yeah!" He used his other voice again. "'Feels so good Dean, love when you find every single place that needs it..." Sam's chest and belly rose and fell rapidly. All of his muscles tightened, relaxed, repeated, Dean's finger gripped in hot, slippery silk. Wiggling in his second digit, Dean pushed upwards, turned his wrist, and found the bump he was seeking. Sam cried out, his eyes rolling back. "Hm, it's swollen some. Not like what you described for me, like a small lime instead of a walnut." 

Now that he was in, Dean took his time to feel all along every surface, into the slight dip between the two slightly enlarged hemispheres. With every little press, which he delivered at random, a spurt of clear fluid escaped Sam's slit, till the pool of it ran over and down his flank. "Put your hand on your dick... Show me how you do yourself," Dean purred. He withdrew his finger slowly, and flopped onto his belly between the long, tense thighs. When he was sure Sam was watching, he lowered his slightly parted lips to the tightened sac, kissing the right side, then the left. "Want them in my mouth?" 

* * *

_"Nuuughhh...!"_

Dean was speaking for him, saying exactly what was on Sam's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to admit, how much this turned him on. He should be embarrassed by his urge – Dean was totally fucked out, so this wasn't about the two of them making love, so why couldn't Sam curb his desire?

Panting, more and more breathless with every single word Dean uttered in this silly high voice that was so unlike Sam's, Sam tensed, his body preparing for the oh-so-welcome and sorely-needed invasion. "Dean," he gasped, struggling for air when the first thick finger wormed its way inside. Sam's hole clenched involuntarily and he let out a hiss, then bucked hard and cried hoarsely as another digit followed suit and immediately located its target.

His dick's leaking increased ten-fold instantly, and every brush and graze of Dean's fingers against Sam's gland made him moan and shudder as more fluid gushed from his slit. Dean commented that, yes, there was some swelling indeed, but his words got drowned out by Sam's unstoppable urge to empty his aching balls – his prostate may be the size of a lime but his testicles felt like... watermelons? He'd have giggled if he'd had enough air. More and more liquid spurted on his belly, ran down his flanks, and pooled on the sheet. Sam was getting closer and closer to the ultimate point of no return – and then Dean pulled out! 

"No!" Sam whined in protest, his hole puckering, needing to be filled so badly. Dean offered to lick his balls, which sent another surge of by now treacly fluid through his inner tubing, but Dean also made it clear that Sam would have to do most of the work himself. "Yesss," he hissed. "Want them in your mouth! And then..." As much as Sam wanted Dean's tongue in his hole, he knew he'd have to earn it. If he even lasted that long. 

Sam needed both of his hands to cover his erection. Wrapping them tightly around the swollen shaft, he began to pleasure himself in long, slow strokes, sliding the foreskin up and down over the purple head with one hand and pumping the base with the other. Less than a minute later, his speed picked up, and his moves were no longer languid and loving, but rough and fast. Gods, had he ever needed to cum so badly before?

"Dean, please!" Sam begged with tears in his eyes. He was so close, but somehow he knew that he wouldn't get there on his own, that he needed his brother's help to find relief.

* * *

"That's right... Love it when you beg for it." He knew Sam wasn't happy about the loss of Dean's fingers on his prostate, but he'd promised to give him what he needed. "When you cum, it's gotta be huge, to get all the poisons out." Doubting Sam cared for logic, right now frantic and jittery, stroking his cock with both fists – holy porn star, Batman! – Dean licked the swollen sac, sucking at one nut, then the other. Musky heat infused his nostrils, and a sharp tang on his tastebuds made drool flood his mouth. "Keep working that dick for me, Sammy." 

Opening his mouth wide, Dean took the entire mass in. Loose, bare skin, since they'd only groomed themselves a day ago, the dense, glands inside like two hard-boiled eggs, Dean savored the manifestation of Sam's fertility in his mouth, and swirled his tongue everywhere. Sam bucked, masturbating like it pained him, moaning for Dean to help him as it he couldn't get off on his own. Oh, he could – Dean had seen and heard it or the signs so many times. But what if...? He wracked his brain for some memory of, since they'd become lovers, Sam whacking it in the middle of the night or in the shower, or any evidence of creamed-in boxers that Dean hadn't deliberately been the cause of, or a wet dream... Nothing.

Jeez, did Sam not do that anymore, or was he just that sneaky? Finally needing air, Dean released the heavy balls from his lips. The other-voice kicked in again. "'Help me, Dean... Feels really good getting teabagged while I beat my meat, but I can't get off on my own now that I'm so used to cumming on your cock, need something in my ass, Dean, pleeeeease!!' And the gods will provide," he finished. 

Ducking his head, tilting it, Dean ran his tongue down the seam of perineum, lower, and then dove in and in and in, his hands finding the undersides of Sam's buttcheeks and pulling them apart just to be able to go deeper, get his tongue all up in there. Somewhere between the scream upon entry and the grind-hitch-thrust of Sam's pelvis, the spit-dripping balls drew up impossibly, seconds from unloading. It was the signal Dean had been waiting for. "Let it go, Sam... Let it, this is me loving you, Baby." 

There was more than enough slick. Dean pressed two fingers into his brother once again, found that incredibly reactive spot, and rubbed firmly. From the outside, he used his other hand to massage his taint, keeping the rhythm fast and steady. It wouldn't be long...

* * *

"Yes! Yes!" Sam went wild when Dean's tongue began to lick around his entrance. Then the fingers were back inside him, palpating his gland, and that was it. He bucked and yowled as his hands flew over his dick when the motherlode reached the surface and he shot all over himself, spraying his chest and belly, even his chin while his dick pumped so much of the thick substance that the tiny part of him that had any sense left wondered how all that could have possibly fit in his body.

Dean kept massaging, and it was hurting now, but Sam clenched his teeth and forced himself to endure it. His body felt drained and boneless, but he kept shuddering through the aftershocks. 

"Dean, please," Sam finally begged. "Make sure you get it all out," he hissed. "Shit, man, I'll never be able to get hard again."

* * *

As always, Dean gazed in awe at the raw power of Sam cumming. He groaned and growled, tossed his head, strands of hair clinging to his sweaty face, legs spread wide like a slut but only for him... Finally, he climaxed in thick fountains of milky cream that made a complete mess of his torso from navel to neck. To Dean, Sam was the epitome of everything erotic. He was utterly sexy, huge and masculine and yet sweet and trusting, but also because what was between them went beyond words like 'love' and 'mate' even 'brothers'.

Usually by the time his spurts reduced to a few stray droplets, Dean knew Sam would be ready for a break. Instead, he tensed and groaned, pleading with Dean to 'get it all out'. Something about that idea, making Sam's body, his prostate, give up more of its treasure, had Dean drooling all over again. Just that little edge, the 'too much but not quite' got him off so hard...

...Even when he couldn't get hard to save his life. And now Sam was complaining about the same phenomenon. "I don't wanna hurt you," was the first thing Dean said when he could speak. "I'll keep going till there's no more fluid... Or until you stop me. Make sure you do if it gets too much," he ordered. 

Even during 'normal' sex, normal for them, Sam's body produced a lot of juice. Dean was like that, too, to a lesser degree; perhaps it was a family trait. Before today, Dean had never thought much about where it all came from: prostate, testicles, some other little component they hadn't considered yet, or what. The snake slime's effects were wearing off finally, as Dean kept stroking the little gland, till Sam was shaking like a leaf and nothing was being emitted but a small, clear droplet with each pass.

"I think you've had more than enough. And I know what you feel like. It's the return of the marshmallow man. It's gonna be limp for..." Dean didn't want to exaggerate too much, not about this, "days." Suddenly, he was practically falling asleep with his face in Sam's crotch. Groaning, he removed his fingers again, wiped them on his abandoned towel, and dragged himself up next to Sam. "Looks like we half-way wrecked another bed. Here..." He laid the towel in the sticky mess of Sam's front. "I... I'm so dead...sorry..." he mumbled as his eyelids crashed shut. Before losing all consciousness, Dean wiggled over so they were pressed together shoulder to hip, and he was out. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was out like a light. Sam covered his brother with a blanket, then washed quickly and got dressed, ready to proceed with their plan: while Dean slept, Sam would return to the hospital to dig for more information, and then carry out an extensive search on the Internet.

The hospital visit turned up no new information at first, but when Sam had gained access to earlier victims' charts, he found that all the female victims that had been killed had been menstruating at the time. Due to the small number of cases altogether, Sam wasn't sure if it was statistically significant, but it was odd, all the more because of the sexual component to the attacks. As interesting as it was, however, the discovery didn't lead him any further, so he returned to the motel.

Watching Dean sleep gave Sam a strange sense of being at 'home'. It was rare that he saw his brother so relaxed. If Dean was still in his sleep, it was usually because he'd lost so much blood that he didn't have the energy to root around. The deep exhaustion caused by the snake poison and the resulting 'cravings' – Sam couldn't come up with a better term – had a similar effect, but for some reason Dean looked at ease. 

Smiling to himself, Sam decided not to wake him although he'd discovered a few things that would lead them closer to solving the case. He'd let Dean sleep for now. Concentrating on his computer, Sam continued his research, interrupting it now and then for a fond look at his brother.

* * *

When Dean finally emerged from deep sleep, the first sense to return was hearing. He registered the occasional clack of Sam's laptop keys. Knowing he was safe with Sam nearby, watching over him, he dozed a little while longer. 

It was warm, and he was covered, though nude. The middle of his back, where he could never reach, itched. Either from the shower or sleep-sweat, Dean's hair felt damp – he was going to have one hell of a case of bed-head. His lower body felt weird, sore, overused. A minute later he remembered why. He realized his bladder was going to need emptying soon, which in itself prompted a higher level of consciousness. 

The light in the room had changed. He had no idea of the time, disoriented from a long, deep sleep. Stirring, he opened his eyes to see his brother in front of his open laptop as he'd suspected, across the room. "'Morning, Sammy," he grunted. Sitting up was a chore and he winced when he did, and stretched – carefully. "What time is it, anyway?" 

If they could put off 'talking' for a while, till he was caffeinated at least, that would be awesome. Unfortunately, their biggest clues to the case were probably himself and Sam, unless Sam had dug up more intel. He'd ask about that once he was awake. 

* * *

"'Morning' to you, too, bro," Sam grinned. "Except that it's evening, but who cares. Since you asked, though, it's seven, and I was thinking of dinner." He gave his brother a sharp look. Dean looked rough. A lot of it was probably due to the messy state of his hair and Sam knew that Dean would deny any sign of weakness, but that only meant that Sam had to trick Dean into taking it easy rather than ordering him.

"Let me guess, coffee and shower for you first? And I have news to share on the case, but that can wait until we're at a diner."

* * *

"Ugh, I slept the day away," Dean grumbled. He'd needed it, he knew. Before he and Sam were together, there'd been no way he'd have admitted it, and he still didn't, per se – he just didn't express denial aloud.

Shower and coffee were definitely in order if he was going to feel half-human again. Dean threw back the covers, grinned at Sam over the state of himself, and got himself to the bathroom and cleaned up. It was such deja vu. They'd gotten here, fooled around, slept, showered. Now it was the same again, the main difference of course being that in the interim, Dean had been attacked by the monster, his libido had gone completely haywire thanks to whatever substance he'd crawled out of the lake covered in, or at least that was their current theory, and had completely exhausted himself. 

Once clean, he dressed as quickly as possible, brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair. Then he tucked his pistol into the back of his pants, and a silver knife into an ankle sheath. Last, he grabbed a flask of holy water. Booze could wait. "Okay, ready," he pronounced, and nodded at Sam, who packed up his computer. 

Digging the keys out, Dean, scrunched up his face as they walked out the door. It was still hot and muggy outside. The Impala had been sitting for some time with the windows rolled up. "The, er, spillage in the back seat isn't getting any fresher. Maybe I should deal with that first." All the other times he'd pulled off back there, Dean had cleaned up as soon as he'd settled down, fastidiously removing the evidence of his desperation. "Gimme a minute." 

Besides condoms and lube, Dean stashed wet wipes under the driver's seat. They weren't the best thing for the upholstery, but they'd do for removing his fluids before they stained, or so he hoped, if this heat and humidity hadn't baked his 'stuff' into the leather already. "Sorry, Baby," he muttered, another flashback in the words. 

Pulling open both doors on the driver's side to let her air out, Dean got to work. Good lord. He rolled his eyes. It was one thing, when a dude was jizzing like a son of a bitch, because the more there was, the better it felt. And then, manly pride in how much one could produce. Cleaning up the mess, that was the downside, and there was a lot. When he'd made this puddle, Dean had been early in his fevered, orgiastic frenzy. He needed half the wipes to remove all traces of cum, slime and the mud from his lake adventure from the seat and backrest.

How he could be hungry after that, Dean didn't know, but he was – famished. All that energetic sex had to have burned a ton of calories. He tossed the pile of used wipes into the outdoor bin, and they headed out. 

"So, what did you learn?" Dean asked. Sam had been patient with him so far, but he wasn't always. Plus, the faster they solved this case, the better. The last thing they needed was a repeat of today. 

* * *

Shit, how could he have forgotten! As soon as they left the motel room, Sam remembered his intention to clean the Impala. He knew it would hurt Dean to see his Baby in its current state, and the reminder of how Dean had rubbed himself against her leather seats and sprayed all over her would probably not be welcome. Sam had promised to himself that the first thing he'd do after returning from the hospital would be to take care of her. But then he'd had an idea that needed to be checked out on his computer – now that he finally had _his_ Baby back – and that had been it.

"Sorry, man," he said, feeling sheepish as he watched Dean lovingly wipe every trace of the mud, slime, and semen off her seats. It was everywhere, and Dean's sharp eyes detected every single spot. All Sam could do was take some of the dirty wipes from his brother's hands, sighing with relief when he and Dean binned the lot after Dean had finished.

"What did I learn," Sam repeated Dean's question. "Well, for one, the thing doesn't like menstruating women. And I think it's come a far way. Geographically and historically. But before I start going into details, how do you feel? Generally and, um, undercarriage-wise, I mean?"

* * *

"Don't worry about it," Dean waved off Sam's apology. He headed down the street in the direction of the IHOP, although he didn't really care what they ate as long as it was food. "I made the mess, and she's my responsibility to take care of, anyway. It's okay." He left out the part about having done it before.

"Huh, so the snake-thing doesn't like 'em on the rag?" He shut up before his misogynist streak could rear its ugly head. If he could, Dean would blame the fact that his mother had been taken away at so young an age, followed by years of his father's so-called child-raising tactics, but that wasn't all of it. Dean had been a womanizer alright, and not because he loved women, although he loved their bodies just fine, just not as much as Sam's. And that, basically, was the problem. They were placebos, especially starting after their teenaged affair, and his heart had turned hard toward females in general. 

Dean didn't have much experience with that particular bodily function, either, considering his former lifestyle. Women didn't pick up lays in that state – usually. That he had any first-hand knowledge at all was thanks to a couple of exceptions. And, well, Cassie – also an exception, overall. By contrast, Sam had been with Jess for years, so he probably knew all about it. And he certainly had no problem using proper words like 'menstruating' that made Dean blush. He ended lamely, "Hardly seems like a reason to kill, but tell that to any baddie." 

Sam's next questions, about his well-being, he'd normally blow off, too, but now that he was a statistic, he couldn't. "My 'undercarriage', really, Sam? Well, feel free to give it the 30-point inspection at your leisure. Everything down there is still dead. It feels... deflated. As if it had been blown up like a balloon and then all the air was let out. When I finally pissed this morning, it was practically orange. There was this deep ache... I'd better chug water. And I'm still sore, but not as bad as earlier. What about you? Really, man, how are you not walking funny? I... I was pretty rough on you." 

* * *

"Given how bitchy some girls get, the snake may have a point with offing menstruating women," Sam suggested darkly. Then he broke into giggles. "That's one issue you don't have with Baby: if she leaks it's _you_ who turns to bitching."

He ignored Dean's glare and continued happily, "Well, I'll gladly give you the next inspection, but it seems you don't need one right now. I'm good, too. No sorer than after a good monster hunt and the Sam-and-Dean special stress relief afterward. Looking forward to the next round of that, by the way, so I hope we'll recover by the time we kill that thing. For now, it's lots of water for you – and no booze, as that will only serve to dehydrate you even further." Sam frowned. "Maybe you should go easy on the coffee as well until you pee yellow again – and thanks for the mental image, by the way."

* * *

"Yeah, I know, water, but I'll be useless and headache-y without caffeine, so there'll just have to be a trade-off." Dean grinned at Sam's mental squick over his description of the color of his pee, and gestured when he saw the sign for a Mexican restaurant chain, Chi-Chi's. "Tits for dinner, Sammy?" 

* * *

Sam snorted. "So your manliness has recovered, then? No, don't say it," he raised his arm and continued with a smirk. "Tits for dinner is fine with me, Dean, but only if you don't complain afterwards."

When his brother looked at him uncomprehendingly, Sam elaborated. "I remember words like 'noxious fumes' being thrown around the last time we had Mexican."

* * *

Manliness? Since when was that wrapped up in Mexican food? Dean thought at first that Sam was taking a crack at his temporary loss of libido. Nope, he was winding him up on an even older stand-by. Two could play at that. 

"Well then, stay away from the bean burritos, beans in general, and we won't have a problem," Dean retorted. "And I believe the word you're looking for is 'toxic'. I suppose I'd live, but poor Baby – she'd turn all green on the inside. You wouldn't want to let loose with that in one of these fancy Southern belles' houses, either." 

Pulling into the parking lot, Dean grimaced. He might be a jerk sometimes, but he was still Sam's big brother so he considered it his job. Beans did nasty things to Sam's digestive system – sulphur had nothing on it. 

As they walked into the restaurant, Dean shoulder-bumped Sam. It was an old signal of camaraderie, one they'd used even as kids. Sort of, 'we're good, right?' Damn, he was hungry! His mouth filled with saliva. 

* * *

As expected, Dean couldn't resist commenting. Sam thought his brother was overplaying it – had always done so – but it brought back memories of prank wars, good times, and Sam was more than happy to go along.

"You know," he said, pulling his face into a pensive frown, "maybe I should eat beans after all. Lots of them, till the risk of exploding. See, if I'm really as toxic as you keep claiming, this might be our best shot at killing the swamp monster."

* * *

Dean pulled open the heavy wooden door and strolled in. The cool wave of air-conditioning made him sign contentedly. "Good plan," he couldn't help saying, though he felt like they'd regressed to being 10-year-olds. "Eat up, and later, we'll just sit your ass in the middle of the lake and let you blast the monster out."

The hostess looked at him oddly, but he coughed, pulled himself together and a second later, she was looking at him in an entirely different manner. Behind him, Dean could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes, but his next rejoinder, if there was one, would have to wait till they were at a table. 

* * *

"Don't forget that you're out of commission," Sam whispered when the waitress left after seating them. He didn't have to check the menu to know that he wanted a chicken burrito, but whether he'd get his wish was still up for discussion with his brother.

"Actually, about sitting my ass in the middle of the lake, I'd like to do some more research first. What if the thing actually likes my, err, pheromones?"

* * *

"Then it has good taste," Dean said in a low voice, eyes on the menu. "Your pheromones – the non-toxic ones – are better than pie." 

Out of commission? Maybe for now, but he should be okay in a day or two. If it went for Sam, he'd fill it so full of buckshot. "But no, I don't want that thing touching your ass, or any of you." Recalling that prehensile little tail and being covered in slime, Dean decided he wasn't taking any more chances. Research was in order. If there was a more efficient way to kill the thing, he was all for it.

"So, what is it you're going to tell me, that you wouldn't in the car?" Sam's ideas weren't usually far-fetched, or if so, it was out of necessity for what they were hunting, grounded in fact. It could possibly be upsetting, but they'd had enough of that in their lives, he knew they could handle it. "Spill."

* * *

Right. No burrito then, but Dean saying that he liked Sam's scent otherwise made him feel better than any burrito could. "How about you choose what I eat?" he winked. "That way we might both survive the night in our motel. You slept some in the afternoon but I'm kinda not really feeling up to a night on the water with that bitch after my ass."

Dean opened the menu and Sam added, "Remember, lots of water for you and no booze. One beer. Any more and it's beans and onions for me." There'd be payback for the threat, but despite their bantering Sam was still concerned about his brother's health.

"So. My research – and it wasn't that I wouldn't tell you in the car. I was just unable to speak up loud enough to make myself be heard over your stomach. Anyway, there are apparently several African tribes that share stories of giant snakes. They have terrestrial and water snakes. I think we can safely rule out the terrestrial ones. Now, the water snakes..."

Sam reached for his laptop and opened it. "Listen what this site has to say. Coincidentally, it's by giantconstrictingsnakes.com. They say that _'the Water Snake is a color- and shape-shifter so that it can catch people. To the /Xam'_ – however that's pronounced – _'the Water Snake can instill sexual potency and health by licking a person or spitting into their mouth. But, the Khoekhoen also believe it will also eat humans who venture to close, or it may enter a person’s home to catch someone he is in love with. It kills by stabbing the victim with its tongue, removing a person’s brain by inserting its tongue into its nose, and sucking out a person’s blood. Water snakes also seduce women and take them underwater for copulation. The Water Snake does not like menstruating women and the snake may cause menstruating humans to break out in blisters.'_ "

He looked at his brother who was still studying the menu. "Sounds familiar, don't you think?"

* * *

That was unheard of, Sam asking Dean to order for him. Resisting the urge to call him a girl, Dean raised his eyebrows but had a look at the vegetarian and poultry sections of the menu. Lucky for him, Mexican food didn't go heavy on garlic. While some things, like beans, made Sam gassy, Dean sweated garlic out of his pores for a couple days after eating garlicky food, which rated up there with werewolf-in-heat for smell. Since Sam had hinted that he wanted to share a bed later, Dean would spare him the distinct odor.

Sam opened up his laptop and turned the screen so he could see, and launched to the legends from the website. Some of the threads were identical, some similar, some totally off-base for what they'd experienced or found out through previous research. Sam finished with a rhetorical question as to the familiarity. "Water snake it is," Dean agreed. "Sexual potency, uh yeah. Health, not so much. We know the thing doesn't like women during that time of the month. I couldn't say if it licked or spit, just that there was all that spit or slime everywhere. Normally, snakes aren't even slimy, but this thing was." 

And now for the real issue. "Any info on that site about how to kill it?" An overgrown but non-supernatural snake would die if beheaded, disemboweled, or burned. "So it's supposed to be what? Some kind of demi-god? Fire could work on something like that, but on the other hand, probably not a water snake unless we could get it onto dry land. Chopping its head off...? That thing was incredibly strong, fast, and slippery. We'll need to trap it somehow. It's gonna get messy." So many of their jobs were nasty like that. Dean couldn't count how many times they'd had to chase monsters through swamps, sewers, condemned buildings, and so on.

Before either of them could discuss it further, their waitress showed up carrying two water glasses, to take their drink order. They each asked for a bottle of Corona, and Dean added that she should bring extra water. His body needed it, even if he wasn't so keen on it. When she'd gone, he nodded at Sam to go on. 

* * *

"Nope, sorry. None of the sites I found had anything on how to kill these things," Sam shook his head. "Something tells me that holy water and spells won't help much. At this point I'm not even sure how supernatural it really is. Maybe it's _only_ ," he grimaced, "a freak of nature."

He sighed. "All we have to start with is how we'd kill a normal snake. As you said, beheading, disemboweling, burning. After trapping it on land, of course, unless you happen to carry a barrel of napalm in Baby's trunk. As for trapping it, that would include building some sort of trap, then bait... Sure you wanna discuss this now? I don't think either one of us could handle another round of snake-Viagra."

The beer arrived and Sam took a large swig, then began peeling the label off the bottle. 

"After all, using my ass for blasting the monster out or luring it in may yet turn out to be the most viable option."

* * *

Dean snorted with laughter, only saving himself from snorting beer out his nose by swallowing quickly. "Lure, huh? Tell you what, your ass is that, but 'never' is soon enough for me to go another full round with the snake-Viagra again. Maybe we'll want some again when we're 60." Hunters rarely made it to such a ripe old age, and they both knew it. 

"That site says some snakes drag women into the water for mating. That's just... yuck. Snakes lay eggs, how would that even work? It dragged me into the water. Do you think snakes can be gay? I fought tooth and claw, but..." 

He took another sip of beer and chased it with water, scowling. It had been years since anyone had called him a twink, much less a girl. Their dad had seen to that, what with the military haircuts and their clothes being a cross between Army surplus and second-hand store chic. These days, his 6'1" stature, broad-shouldered-narrow-hipped profile, three-day stubble, and short hair more than balanced any 'gee you're pretty' comments, and if not, the speaker might find himself at the wrong end of Dean's fist. Shifting uncomfortably, Dean took careful stock and decided the soreness was almost gone. He'd always been a quick healer. Damn, he really had let Sam... take him. Now what? They'd have to take turns? He wasn't sure he could handle that, plus he loved being in Sam so damned much, loved pushing his cock inside and rutting till they both screamed in ecstasy.

A thought process like that, much less explicit, in fact, would usually give him an erection. Not today, though. Dean didn't know whether to be relieved or worried about that. He chose to discuss the case further. "So if it's not supernatural, is it a freak of nature, you think? That could still be something of ours. So far, from the way the papers have read, the locals don't have a clue. It's like they just want to ignore what's going on." 

* * *

"Maybe it's a female snake. One that somehow relates to human males as preferred sex partners," Sam mused. "And yes, I know how that sounds – trans-snake – but killing women could be its choice for getting rid of the competition." He drank more beer and stayed silent for a few seconds, enjoying the heavenly cool brew.

You know," Sam looked at his brother, "as ridiculous as this sounds, there might be something useful here. If the thing indeed hates menstruating women, we could," he gulped, glad that their food had yet to arrive, "um, get hold of some, well, menstrual blood, and use that to set a trap."

* * *

As he comprehended, Dean's guts went cold. His stomach was empty but the couple sips of beer and water threatened to come up. "Fucking A! That's nasty. I mean, it's one thing when she's, you know, bleeding, but to save that, the uh, leftovers?" Dean choked. He could barely go on. But he couldn't let Sam 'win', either. There was one 

"We don't know any women here. Where do you propose to get your paws on that stuff, _Samantha?_ " It had been a long time since he'd called Sam that. Dean plastered a smug grin on his face and leaned back in his chair, partly because he needed air and partly to rake his eyes over his brother. 

* * *

Sam snorted. "It usually takes you less than 24 hours in a new town to round up at least a half dozen ladies that are willing to give you anything. Statistically, assuming an average cycle of four weeks and that the bleeding goes on for a few days, there should be at least one among them that's on the rag."

Maybe he should feel guilty for enjoying watching his brother squirm, but this was too good an opportunity to miss. Besides, it might help them with their case.

Sam grinned. "I suggest you get to 'work', bro."

* * *

"Maybe you don't know as much about women as you think you do. They don't pull the bees-to-honey act when they're bleeding. There are a few freaks, but most of them know it grosses dudes out. Of course, I've gotten my red wings, what about you?" Dean took another pull of his beer, longer this time. Sam's startled expression told him he knew what the expression meant.

"Maybe we should both try to hook up. Better chances, and all that." Though he didn't suppose he wanted to see some chick get handsy with his lover, it would be a little more bearable than if a guy did it. And it might be amusing to see Sam try to fumble his way through that.

* * *

"Dude." Sam schooled his voice and face into a slightly bored expression. "Not sure you even know what that is and what to do with one, but I had a _girlfriend._ Remember Jess?"

* * *

Oh, so _that_ was how it was gonna be. Dean hadn't forgotten yet all the shit Sam had given him over Cassie. It seemed like ten years ago already, so much had happened since then, so much had changed. 

"Duh, man. I remember. Took you as too much of a prude to go for something that kinky. So what, did she, like, throw you down and order you to get busy with the tongue?" He shrugged elaborately, and let his eyes crinkle in the corners. Neither of them had ever initiated anything he'd call 'kinky' on each other. Unless rimming counted. They didn't have time for 'scenes', and in their moments, the sex was raw and desperate and tender at once. "Women in that state can be bitches, you said it yourself."

Just his luck, their waitress reappeared just then and shot him a death glare. Sure Sam had seen it, Dean quirked his lips slightly, in a 'speak of the devil' sort of way. "Hi there, Sweetheart," he turned on the charm full force, and sure enough, within ten seconds, the girl didn't know what hit her. 

* * *

Sam watched as Dean worked his magic. Their waitress was a busty Mexican girl who apparently had no objection against being wooed by a blond, green-eyed heart-throb. He had to suppress a grin at the thought of how her happy face would change the moment his brother asked her if she was 'on the rag'.

"Women in that state can also be incredibly horny," Sam smiled sweetly when the girl had left. "And here I thought you were the experienced one between us." He winked. "Quality and quantity, dude."

* * *

Dean snorted. "Dude. It's all quality with me. Ask your ass." 

Considering the last day's mess, he couldn't say that his claim was 100 percent true, but close enough. Sam just wasn't going to give up, so neither was Dean. "As soon as this girl figures out my 'special fetish', she'll be dying to give me her, um. Supplies." At least he thought of a word before he gagged.

* * *

When Dean referred to his ass, Sam almost choked on his beer. His desperate attempt at stifling his giggles wasn't helped by Dean's expression when he stuttered about 'supplies'. Sam decided to have mercy.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Quality. Now, here's a suggestion that might make you value me even more than for just my ass. When we've finished our meal, you keep Esmeralda distracted – and when I say distracted, that goes for the remaining staff and guests, too, so you'd better make that a, how shall I say, _quality_ kiss or whatever." Sam smirked.

"Meanwhile," he continued, "I get to be the real – and hopefully unnoticed – hero and raid the Ladies' room's sanitary bins. That work for you?"

* * *

"You're really serious?" At Sam's proposed plan of action – for himself – Dean felt his eyes go round and wide. If this was one of Sam's pranks, he was going to be so dead! "Uh... sure. I got the easy part, then." He had a last thought. "Do not put that in my car!" But they'd have to transport it somehow. He dug out his keys and sent them flying across the table. "In the trunk," he ordered firmly, silently apologizing to his Baby. She was a she, but this was one indignity she should never have had to bear.

Esmeralda returned, and Dean made sure to flirt some more, complimenting her bosom *coughcough* blouse and the elaborate braided up-do of her glossy black hair. For good measure, he introduced himself and Sam to her, saying they'd be in town a few days. She was a bit shy for his taste, keeping her lashes mostly down. His women had tended to be pretty up front about what they wanted. Whatever was going through Sam's head, he managed a poker face through it all. 

* * *

Sam rolled his eyes while Dean got to work on their waitress. "You'd better think up an explanation why you won't bed her in the end. We may want to return here for food, after all." After the first few bites he found that, indeed, the food was very nice.

"So, about Baby," he resumed their earlier topic. "If it bothers you that much, I could take a cab. And get another room, of course. Or, we should get another room for the two of us anyway, while the yuck stays in the one we trashed earlier. But you know, of course, that there's a catch in the plan. Something tells me that our snake won't go for it unless the bait is fresh. Therefore, my suggestion would be that once I've secured the booty," Sam made an effort now to not refer to the actual substance as he didn't want to ruin dinner for Dean, "we drive to the lake and throw it on the shore, then see what happens. If the snake bites, we can go ahead and plan the next step. If it doesn't, we won't have wasted another night and we can go straight to thinking about a new strategy."

* * *

Dean listened to Sam's next step in the plan, delaying in taking a bite, glad he had when he heard the details. About their waitress, he just shrugged. "Oh you know, she's probably a good Catholic girl who won't put out, anyway. I'm not worried. If she gets too frisky, I'll just tell her I'm on the rag," he joked.

"I think we need a new room no matter what." Remembering the state of it, he wrinkled his nose. They could afford it, for the moment. The sheer amount of spunk and slime had been staggering, and everywhere, and since room-cleaning happened in the mornings after check-out, they'd either have to sleep in it or ask for new linens, which would help somewhat but the room would still reek to high heaven of sex and snake-spit or whatever it was. 

"Let's do that, dump it down by the lake ASAP. No need to waste money on a cab, we'll drive the Impala – as long as you put the junk in the trunk." He grinned over his own joke. "Then, like you said, we'll have an idea of if your theory works... If the snake happens to be hanging around in that part of the lake, and if it can't tell the difference between uh, this and a real woman." 

Just then, his stomach growled, and Dean remembered how hungry he was. He picked up a fork and tried not to think about what Sam would do, later. "We'd better be ready with machetes, maybe a shotgun. And hope there's only one Mega-snake." 

* * *

"Holy crap," Sam whispered. "You mean there may actually be more than one of them? Like, a couple, one going after boys and the other hunting girls?" He shook his head. "There'd better not be. We only have a vague idea of getting rid of the one." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm so ignoring you suggested that."

Sam concentrated on his food for a while, but his mind wouldn't leave the thought alone. "Well, if there's two, and the you-know-what works to attract one snake, we could always add some spunk to snare the other. Assuming that things downstairs will resume function eventually."

He took another bite. "I'm still wondering if this has to do with fertility. It would be interesting to know where in their cycles the surviving female victims were when they were attacked. And if the killed guys had virility – fertility – issues. But we won't find that in their charts. I already looked for anything related to sex but found none other than, well, you know."

* * *

Sam had said he didn't want to think about it, but Dean needed to air his thoughts now that they were racing. "I don't know, either. That website didn't say there were pairs or multiples. Most supernatural we hunt are either mostly solitary, like shtriga, wendigos, shifters, djinn... the list goes on. Vampires and demons, you have nests or infestations. Things like ghouls, witches, or demi-gods, it can be anything. Just saying, there are two big lakes, the connecting channel, and all the tributaries. How could it, if there were only one, happen to be in the same area I was right then? Coincidence? I'm sure they're fast, scary-fast, in the water. Still, I couldn't have been out of the car more than ten minutes before it grabbed me." 

Shrugging, Dean shoveled another bite of shredded beef burrito into his mouth. As soon as he'd chewed and swallowed, he continued. "If it was a female snake, I dunno if the thing was trying to use me or what. Cross-species breeding, that's kinda too far removed. And, ew. If I have a fertility issue, I wouldn't know it because I've always played safe. Virility, well, Sam, I don't think there's a problem. But a monster wouldn't do it for me. Maybe that's why the slime. But then why would it let me get away?" As good of a fighter as he was, Dean wasn't so sure he could do much against all those slippery coils. He recalled all his limbs being restrained, and then blacking out. Any defense was ineffectual. 

"This just gets weirder and weirder. Maybe you're right and there is only one, and it's trying to find a mate. I suppose it could be trans. Some worms and fish are. From what we found out online before, all the vics, alive or dead, were adults within normal childbearing age. We should check if any of the vics had kids, before and after. The Binghams had pictures on their wall, but no current ones with kids. I wonder if that's by choice or not."

Dean was more than aware that his 'what ifs' were getting them nowhere. He'd already mowed through his food, so he sat back, letting it settle and making himself drink more water. He decided to not get too outrageous with Esmeralda today. Sam had it right – they might want to come back again, if only for the delicious food. Getting thrown out would attract unwanted attention. 

* * *

Sam finished inhaling his quesadilla and wondered if it was unfair to ask for another beer when he'd put Dean on a water diet. A little voice in his head reminded him that he'd also absorbed some of the snake poison, so not drinking more alcohol was probably a good idea. Also, the last thing they wanted was being slowed down by drunk clumsiness when they may have to leg it from the snake later. Of course, there was no reason to tell Dean that was the reason for skipping out on the beer.

"Since I'm such a good little brother, I'll suffer with my big bro and stick to water," he announced. "So, the plan's made, then. A trip to the snake pond and then a clean room, and a major tip for the maid is due, I'd say." 

Sam smirked. "Besides, if tonight's experiment is successful, the maid might be a good source for fresh... bait."

* * *

Not a twitch or an eye roll. Dean didn't get any reaction from Sam for running his mouth off like that. None of it had been very useful, anyway, so he chalked it up to the lingering tired, drained feeling. 

In fact, he missed his cue. After nodding to them needing to leave the maid who'd be stuck with cleaning their room a big tip, to which he added, "...And a Hazmat suit," Dean had to ask what his brother meant about needing fresh bait. "You don't think whatever you find in a few minutes will be enough? Somehow, I don't think the maids would be allowed to dispose of their... supplies... In guest rooms." 

He supposed Sam was still leaving it to him to suss out which women might be prospective 'donors'. Their dad had always insisted you could smell when a woman was fertile, and when she was bleeding. Talk about a cringe-worthy set of memories. No one wanted to think of their mother in that context. But that was John – never say anything about anything until suddenly it was way too much information. 

"Alright, Sam, I suppose I can play bloodhound to that one, too." Just how, he was still punting, and starting to sweat. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw their waitress approaching, walking a lot more confidently this time. 

* * *

"A Hazmat suit," Sam muttered. "Gee, I wasn't aware we had one. By the way, I wouldn't mind wearing one myself for what I'm about to do."

He pushed his plate away and continued speaking. "Come on, we've stolen from maids' carts before. Besides, that'll only be necessary if our tribute is accepted tonight because then we'll need more to not only tempt the thing but to actually catch it."

Lowering his voice, Sam looked into Dean's eyes. "As much as I hate the idea of there being more than one of those things, it's good that you brought it up. You're right, of course, with the various brands of monsters hunting alone, with their nest, or whatever, but I'm not sure which of those types our current beast matches best. It's probably safest to assume that there's more than one so we can watch out for big bad Daddy snake who'll surely want our balls if we off his mate."

* * *

"We don't have Hazmat gear, but we should look into it. Think of all the sewers we've had to crawl through. They might not be radioactive or infectious, exactly, but toxic." Dean couldn't stifle a grin when Sam muttered about wishing he had some for his upcoming mission. He'd been wrong about Sam's supposed New Age sensibilities on the subject of women's cycles. He was nearly as caveman as Dean. Amusing.

"Big daddy snake? Vamps have alphas, could be this species does, too. I can't say if the thing wants our balls, or just what's in them," he cracked. By then, their waitress was standing at the end of their table, and Dean could tell from the look on her face she'd heard at least the last part of what he'd said. So, she probably considered him a real whack-a-doo or just a major perv, now. Nothing he hadn't been called before. Dean tossed a saucy grin in her direction and asked for the check, simultaneously pulling out his wallet and handing over some twenties. When she got back, he'd tell her to keep the change, and then it would be 'go' time. 

* * *

"Uh-huh, I guess that means my grace period is up, huh?" Sam grimaced. "I'll tell you a secret I already know you don't want to hear," he smirked, "but I'm telling you anyway because I'll ask you to keep your mouth shut when I'm done. Here it is: while Jess and I were never put off by her being on the rag, it's so not the same when it comes to acquiring used supplies from a stranger."

He took a deep breath. "Gimme the car keys."

* * *

Dean didn't know whether to grimace or smirk; he probably did both. "Already gave you the keys, bro," he laughed at his brother. "Lose them already? Check your pockets again. You must have too much junk in there." 

A few seconds later, Sam was gone and Dean was left to create some sort of distraction. Esmeralda returned, so he stood and chatted her up for a couple minutes. Finally he leaned in, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, and said in a low voice, "This is gonna sound strange, but I'll give you fifty bucks if you let me chase you through the kitchen and out the back door." He got a blank, shocked stare. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna catch you. So how about a hundred? Just tell me which way is out and move aside when we get out the door."

"Sounds like fun," the young woman finally said, a look of mischief on her face. "Pay up and follow me." Dean peeled off more twenties. One of his personal mantras was that he didn't pay, but this wasn't for sex, so that was different. Esmeralda pointed to an archway to his left. "Kitchen's there. We'll be going right just inside the door, then left at the end of the counter. Just follow me. Should I scream and raise a fuss?"

"You scream as loud as you like, sweetheart," Dean drawled, glad Sam wasn't around to hear that one. All this time and comments like that were still something like instant reflex. 

For that, he got a direct look like he was about to get laid. Then Esmeralda hissed, "Go!" and let out a high-pitched shriek.

She darted off, surprisingly quick, and Dean gave chase. He regretted having to do it, but in the kitchen he knocked over stacks of plates and glasses on the way by, and pulled over a shelf behind him, close to the back door. 

Once out, he looked for Sam or the Impala but there was nothing but a narrow alley, and he turned to his left and ran, startling some of the restaurant staff on a smoke break. Hearing Baby roar to life, he made for the sound of her idle. Sam backed out of the parking spot and put her in Drive as Dean pounded in that direction, hearing yelling behind him. He yanked open the door and jumped in. "Punch it!" 

* * *

Dean jumped into the car and told Sam to punch it, so Sam punched it while Dean reported what he'd done, bubbling over with enthusiasm.

"Sounds like you two had fun," he grinned. "I knew it: girls can always be sure to have a great time with you, even if you don't bed them. And I won't spoil the mood with details on you-know-what. It's a shame, though, that we won't be able to eat there again. If I remember right, though, they have take-out and delivery, so we might still get another chance at their food."

He steered the Impala on the road to Lake Moultrie. "Same place as where it attacked you or would you rather go somewhere else?"

* * *

"Yeah, it was kinda fun," Dean grinned. Sam peeled out and drove away on a winding route for some minutes to shake any tail. It didn't appear they had any police attention. "Youthful highjinks or whatever. Don't worry, Sam. I'll only ever bed you again." Hell, he knew people got bored, even married couples. But them? With the depth of their mutual love and quality of their sex life, no way. They were partners, in profession and life. He and Sam had already established they wouldn't – couldn't – live without each other. It was just always there, a constant. 

"Let's go back to the same spot," Dean suggested. He shifted to face Sam, admiring the strong, clean lines of his brother's arm, shoulder, and neck. "There's a shallow beach, and then the water drops off fast. If the thing's around, it's bound to smell the... offerings." It still made him a little green around the gills to think about. "I can't believe you did that! It's a whole new era of monster hunting."

* * *

A warm feeling spread in Sam's belly when Dean said that he'd only ever bed him again, but he also felt a little embarrassed because sometimes he was jealous of his brother's success with women. "As soon as we're able to bed each other again, you mean," he said, trying to ignore the guilt for his jealousy. "Esmeralda is sweet, though, and I'm glad she got something out of it... you."

Sam concentrated on the winding road. It was dark and they didn't encounter another vehicle. Maybe the locals had enough sense to steer clear of the borders of Lake Moultrie, at least after dark, although the time of day didn't seem to make a difference to the attacker. Maybe that was another clue... 

He'd discuss it with Dean later: they were there. Sam couldn't suppress a shudder at the memory of finding Dean earlier, a lifeless bundle covered in slime and mud. He deliberately addressed the topic he was the second-least keen on thinking of, but it was better than the image of Dean after he'd been taken out by the snake.

"Yeah, I'm a real hero," Sam said and made a show of slapping his own shoulder with his hand. "And I swear that if you ever remind me of this again – or tell anyone else – I'll personally castrate you, without any regard for my own well-being without you having intact balls."

* * *

"That's all she'll get out of me," Dean stated firmly, in reference to their waitress. "She made a nice tip for a chase through the kitchen and a few squeals."

It was time to let up on Sam, Dean supposed, unless he wanted to deal with a bitchface. The kid had, after all, done the dirty work. "Threatening my balls? Okay! Not a word," Dean feigned being scared. The mental picture was pretty gruesome, not that he took Sam seriously about it. "You love them," he added. Beyond some trees, he could see the vast expanse of rippling dark water. They had no more time to bullshit, and couldn't spare the distraction. 

Sam parked and they got out, circling around to the trunk, which Sam opened. "I'll take a sawed-off, a machete, and, hm, I guess that's it." The machete went into a long holster along the outside of his leg. Rummaging around for shells in the black borders inside the trunk, Dean loaded the shotgun and stuffed more shells in his jacket pockets. 

The evening seemed very quiet. Too quiet. There was a light breeze and half a moon. All along the shore, the lights of houses shone yellow, highlighting the movement of the waves. There were barely any boats out on the water. All in all, it was downright eerie. Dean exchanged a glance with Sam and knew he was feeling the same thing. In a low voice, he asked tersely, "Got the booty? I'll cover you, let's go." And he started toward the shore, Sam a few feet away but beside him, shotgun held ready, through high grasses and then sand. 

* * *

"I love your balls," Sam confirmed, "and I appreciate the favor you're doing both of us by forgetting what I did." As much as Dean loved winding Sam up, there were limits they both respected. There had been a moment earlier when Sam had considered challenging Dean to a round of rock-paper-scissors to hash out who'd be the one emptying the bins in the ladies' room, but the green tinge on his brother's face had made him volunteer. In exchange, Dean would never call Sam on this event – all the more since they'd need a repeat performance if the snake went for the bait.

They armed up with what they thought might be effective weapons. Truth be told, neither of them had a clue if machetes and shotguns would as much as touch the snake, but, hey, one had to start somewhere. Their progress toward the shore was slow, Sam kept the 'booty' in a ziploc bag, hoping it kept the smell inside the way the manufacturers claimed. If not, there was a chance that the snake would administer a second dose of Viagra to both of them – and that was if they got lucky. If the snake associated the rank smell of decomposing blood with either of them menstruating, things might get very bad very quickly. 

"Dean," he hissed when they reached the shore. "Get ready. I'm counting down, and then we run – no, we _fly_ back and lock ourselves into the Impala. That thing is so not getting to you again, and I don't want a close encounter either. So... Three, two, one, NOW!"

He unzipped the bag and grabbed Dean's hand, making sure they weren't separated as they ran for their lives.

* * *

Just remembering his last experience here, being on a hunt with danger thick in the air had Dean's heart hammering in his chest. Once on the sand close to the water, Sam gave a countdown, dumped the garbage, and they ran like hell, like Lucifer himself was on their asses. The soft sand made the first few steps agonizingly slow, then long grasses seemed determined to trip him. Sure he heard the water behind him roiling angrily, Dean pushed himself to go faster. He kept the sawed-off gripped in one hand, and the machete bounced against his leg as they ran. Sam had a death grip on his other arm, but they were going to have to separate to get in the car, which was just in front of them. 

"Sam, driver's side!" Dean panted. His brother had the keys, and now wasn't the time to fuss about who was driving. His foot hit a rough spot in the pavement and slid out from under him; he'd been about to yank the door open and his forehead hit the handle hard as he went down. Groaning in pain, Dean attempted to sit up. 

* * *

When they reached the Impala, Dean let go of Sam's hand so they could both get in the front seats. Sam jumped into the car and switched the headlights on. When he'd parked her, he'd aligned her such that they'd illuminate the target area, and he congratulated himself for his good aim – before noticing that he was still alone in the car.

"Dean! What the...?" 

Nothing but murky darkness was visible outside the passenger door. Oh fuck, no! Sam's heartbeat went mad. Dean wouldn't survive a second round on snake venom. Sam had already thrown his weapons on the backseat, a capital mistake, but when it came to his brother he didn't care. Dean needed his help and if he couldn't take the monster out, he'd offer himself up to it. Maybe he could distract the thing long enough to let go of Dean. If the snake did indeed hunt for virility, it would hopefully recognize that although Sam still felt sexually drained, he was probably fresh meat compared to Dean.

Sam jumped out of the car and ran to the other side, where he almost screamed out in relief at finding Dean. His brother was on the floor, attempting to sit up. He looked as if he was maybe not quite there and groaned with pain, but Sam would have been more worried if Dean had _not_ been groaning. However, there was no time to lose. Dean had reported that, earlier, the snake had appeared within minutes, and they'd been here for a while already. 

"Come on, lemme help, let's get you into the car." Sam pulled his brother away from the door so he could open it, then dragged Dean, who was trying to cooperate but not quite succeeding, closer. He slid his hands under Dean's arms to pull him up when he heard the sound.

He couldn't place it as he'd never heard anything like it before. Later, he'd describe it as a smacking, slurping, rustling noise that made him shiver. It came from the lake. And it was coming closer at an alarming rate.

Not sure if they'd make it out of there, Sam went through his options in a fraction of a second. The car key was still in the ignition. Dean would be safe inside the Impala, and he was probably not injured seriously but only a little dazed from knocking his head, so he'd be able to drive. 

The plan was made. Get Dean in the car. Then, try to get himself in the car, too, but Dean was first. Sam grunted with the effort of hoisting Dean up, and succeeded to bundle him on the passenger seat. His feeling of victory was cut short when he stepped back – and right into a rabbit hole or something. Struggling for balance, he hit his head on something, the roof of the Impala? 

Sam's last thought as he went down was that the car door was still open. Then, nothing.

* * *

Shit, Shit, Shit! Sam had already been relatively safe in the car but he was out again, doing his best to shove Dean into the front seat. Dean was all for it, but his stunned brain wasn't giving his limbs much in the way of useful directions at the moment. The headlights had been turned on, and he was sure he saw movement down by the water. No way he was letting that thing get Sam!

About to get in, too, Sam went down hard, a thump against the roof telling that he'd hit his head. They were the world's worst slapstick comedy team, and the most inappropriately timed! Gritting his teeth against the pain blossoming on his face, Dean shoved his body across the bench seat. Sam's long arms and legs were sprawled everywhere. Dean would have to get out. 

Somehow he managed to pick Sam's slack form up, maneuver him into the seat without banging his head, shove in all his uncooperative limbs and slam the door closed. About then, the scrape of thousands of scales against pavement warned Dean that they weren't alone. Instincts screaming, he pulled the machete and brandished it, backing away around the ass end of the car. This time Sam had left the door open, and he tried to get there but the snake slid by on the ground near his feet and he had to stop or come into contact with it. It was so long end to end, it went nearly all the way around Baby. 

Freaked out of his mind, Dean jumped onto the top of the trunk, then the roof, which he knew would be dented in from his body weight. He was about to lower himself into driver's side when the snake reared up in front of him. Holy crap, its blocky head was bigger than his! Its black, dead eyes fixed on him, it beaded on him a minute before the skinny forked tongue flickered out. Dean flinched back just in time and swung his blade. If he didn't get it to move back, he wouldn't be able to shut the car door. He went on the offensive, knowing he'd never be able to overpower it like this. 

Those scales had to be thick – the machete bounced off rather than cut into anything. Dean heard his brother stirring, moaning in the car – his time was even more limited before the thing tried to get at Sam, either to try to mate with him or have him for dinner. Dean more or less charged, albeit from an awkward position, slashing right-left-right with the machete and then stabbing at the eyes and mouth. It reared back – now or never! Dean jumped to the ground, almost slid in a trail of slime, and got behind the wheel, pulling the door closed. Thank god there was no snake body blocking it. 

Now they had other problems. Not giving up, the monster seemed to be head-butting Baby's sides, trying to get at them. If it went higher, it could very well break the windows. Dean turned the key in the ignition and the car roared into life, the familiar sound calming him slightly, though his heart rate still had to be about a thousand beats per second. Then he heard a whump and groaned – it was on the roof. 

* * *

Hadn't Sam just manhandled Dean into the car? So why was Dean out again, doing the same to him, Sam, now? _And why the hell didn't his idiot brother notice the approaching snake???_

Before Sam could scream – or rather groan – a warning, Dean slammed the passenger door. So, Sam was safe, but Dean clearly wasn't. His limbs were still kind of unconnected to his brain. Sam found himself unable to get out of the car and help Dean. Maybe that was just as well, considering how their mission had gone down so far: from a harmless 'see if the snake is hot on used tampons' to 'have a Winchester for dinner or the night, part two'.

The driver's side door was open, but as Sam watched with increasing horror, the snake blocked access for Dean. He could see each individual scale, black or dark green, covered in a slick substance that reeked to high heaven even at a distance. The sounds it gave off would have made Sam want to vomit, even if he ignored the stink. Looking around frantically for anything he could do to help Dean, Sam thought of the car's horn, but the ignition was off and his fingers didn't cooperate in turning the key.

Outside, Dean was wielding his machete and Sam felt a weird sense of pride. They were lost. The snake would fell Dean first and then get to Sam by the open car door, but whereas Sam was still kind of dazed, Dean would go down fighting. Yay for his brother who'd never give up!

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise coming from above and it felt as if the roof was giving. Sam groaned in pain as he tried to move in order to not get crushed if the snake maimed the car, but before he could figure out what was happening, Dean was in the driver seat and flooring the pedal. 

The Impala screeched and whined, and the thumping sound on the roof continued. It felt like years, but suddenly her wheels caught on the undoubtedly slippery ground, and then she was flying, fishtailing madly, and finally roaring as Dean got her under control and her powerful body took them to safety...

Had he really just thought that last thought? Sam giggled. Maybe he'd hit his head harder than he thought. 

"Dean," he exclaimed, giddy with relief and adrenalin. "I take anything back that I ever said about your Baby. She's the sweetest, cutest, and bravest girl I ever met. Would you let me marry her?"

* * *

They weren't out of the proverbial woods yet. Dean tried to peel out, but despite his foot heavy on the gas, she spun her wheels, no doubt slick with slime. Meanwhile, the snake rose up again and the front of it fell onto the trunk, the head reaching for the roof. Dean feared for the back window. If it got up, it could very well cave in the roof. Not on his watch! 

Everywhere the thing touched, it left a trail of noxious ooze. He was going to have to give Baby a bath, first thing. Finally the wheels found something dry enough to grip and the Impala jumped forward, screeching. She weaved several times before Dean could get her straightened out, which served to dump the snake onto the ground – he felt rather than heard the thud, or the reverse of it as its weight came off the shocks, struts, and frame. Dean kept watch in the rearview mirror for a few hundred yards, but they soon left the sickeningly writhing monstrosity far behind. That had been way too close for comfort, even for them.

Sam, giddy from the knock on the head, was giggling about how much he looooved Dean's Baby, asking for his permission to marry her. "Dude, you can't marry a car! How's she supposed to say 'I do' – honk?" he laughed, even as he thought at the same time, 'although a person can make love to a car, _this_ car... kinda.' It wasn't really fair, since Dean could get off on her but the reverse couldn't really happen. 

"Now I'm jealous," he went on, still smiling and watching the road as they sped back toward town. "Figured if either of us was the marrying kind, well, we'd get married." Okay, so the sentence structure was a little awkward, but Sam could figure out what he meant. Or not. Dean couldn't even think about the "M" word without it being a joke. Sam was a lucky bastard that he'd gotten the "L" word out of Dean – that was almost a first. 

Suddenly, he was scared shitless. Not monster-snake scared, but enough to want to cover his tracks. He slapped Sam's thigh in brotherly mirthfulness. "Baby's pretty possessive of yours truly. I dunno, you'd better talk to her. Should I pull over and give you two some privacy?" 

* * *

By the time Dean got them away from the scene, Sam had recovered his wits. When Dean offered Sam privacy with 'Baby', Sam felt warmth spread in his his belly. The Impala had saved their lives – and not for the first time. Yet it wasn't Sam's emotions for the car that moved him but how Dean reacted to it. 

Suddenly, Sam felt guilty. If not for his tripping and falling, the snake would have never got close to the Impala. He could still smell the stinking ooze, and he was sure that the car was covered in the slimy secretions of the snake. Furthermore, during their panicked flight, he hadn't checked whether the snake had devoured or ignored their bait. It was the key ingredient to their further planning, and Sam already hated himself for what he was about to suggest, but there was no alternative.

"Dean," he began haltingly, "she deserves a lot of TLC – from both of us – but right now, I'm afraid it isn't over." Sam paused. "Unless you watched what happened to the, um, bag, we have to return and check out whether the snake went for it."

He felt beyond exhausted and Dean didn't look any better off, but they needed to know.

"Sorry." Sam cringed.

* * *

"No need to be sorry, we were both clumsy as fuck." Dean was definitely not sorry that Sam had given him an out, knowingly or unknowingly. He supposed it was the life-and-death nature of the past few minutes that had him way overthinking. 

He also realized Sam was right. First they'd been running away, backs to the lake, and then the snake had been after them personally. Neither of them had a clue as whether it meant the snake liked live bait better, or hated what they'd brought so much it went after the bearers. "I'm afraid you have a point. We still don't know squat. We'd better go back and check, but this time, neither of us gets out of the car... that thing could still be out there. Then we call it a night, huh?" That wasn't to say he wouldn't tend to Baby first if he could find an open car wash or even just 'borrow' some unsuspecting schmuck's garden hose. 

* * *

"D'you think it was an after-effect of the snake poison that made us so stupid? I can't believe we just went out there without a backup or retreat plan." Sam noticed that his hands were shaking. "That thing could have easily killed us both."

He drew a deep breath and forced his hands to lie still on his thighs.

"Go back. Check the shore. Do not leave the car. Call it a night." Sam chuckled nervously. "In separate beds, I suggest. If you hug me while I'm asleep, I'm likely to kill you, thinking you're the snake." He shuddered.

* * *

"I dunno. We had weapons, our back-up plan was 'run like hell'. Mighta worked if we hadn't both tripped. If we have to try this again, let's make sure of our footing first before we have to run in the dark. And have a back-up back-up plan."

"Oh-kay," was all Dean said, eyebrows up, as to sleeping separately. Normally they did, while hunting. He pulled over to the side of the road, flipped the car around, and drove back the way they came. Their run-in with the snake must have shook Sam up more than he'd imagined. Most of his nightmares these days were about Jess and the ceiling fire, as far as Dean knew. 

As they neared the site, Dean slowed. Slime glistened on the road to mark the spot. "It'll be on my side, but you look, too, since I have to keep one eye on the road. I don't even want to roll the window down." He was more than a little jittery, half-expecting the snake to pop up in front of the car or fall on them again.

He slowed to not much more than a crawl, glancing out the driver's side window every couple seconds. "All the garbage is gone. That could mean that the snake ate it–" yurg! "–or attacked and destroyed it. Inconclusive. Or what do you think?" 

Sam had moved to the center of the seat and was leaning across him, so that Dean could smell his shampoo and fresh sweat. Fear sweat. Yeah, fear. It was a wonder they hadn't both pissed themselves. He couldn't even begin to get aroused so close to danger, and his often-traitorous body wasn't having it, either. "OK, man, personal space bubble invasion. Driving, here." To take the edge off the words, Dean let a quick puff of air out of his nose, not quite a snort.

* * *

Sam wasn't easily frightened but that snake thing scared the hell out of him. Not only had it mauled Dean – how it had managed to overwhelm his brother Sam still couldn't tell, and he was sure that Dean was as clueless as he was – but only a few minutes ago it had almost got to him as well. They were two experienced hunters, and yes, they got injured now and then, but falling victim to a monster twice in a row was unheard of. It was only now that it hit him that he'd almost lost Dean today.

"Sorry, man," he apologized when his brother complained. He was sweating like a pig, and this time it wasn't caused by the temperature. "Maybe we should settle not only for separate beds but rooms as well..."

Sam shuddered again, well aware that he wouldn't be able to sleep unless he heard Dean breathing. He clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to check the surroundings again. The shore was empty, just like Dean had said.

"I don't think I want to know what it did with it. Let's get out of here, and I'll be happy not to mention it again until the morning."

* * *

Separate rooms? Even when they were flush with cash, that was unheard of. "I'm happy not to mention that son of a bitch till tomorrow. You sure about the rooms, though, Sammy? I think it'd be weird, trying to sleep without you in the same room." 

Dean was aware this sounded less than self-assured and somewhat needy, which didn't sit well with him. He shrugged. "If that's what you want." 

* * *

"What? No! I just thought you..." Hadn't Dean just complained about his smell? It was only then that Sam realized that he was almost sitting on Dean's lap. He must have moved closer when he was still out of it.

"Never mind. Of course I wanna sleep with you." Sam gave Dean his best smile and yawned. "And sorry if the emphasis is on sleep tonight." Something was wrong with the way Dean had asked if he really wanted them to sleep in separate rooms, but suddenly, he found it hard to concentrate.

The drive back to the motel didn't take long, and by the time they reached the place Sam knew he was ready to drop. He slouched into the office and got them another room. It turned out to have an even uglier decor than the previous one, but he was too tired to care. 

Groaning with relief as he took off his boots, Sam stripped down to his boxer-briefs and tee, already half-asleep when he slumped down on the bed next to the bathroom.

"Night, Dean, love ya..."

* * *

Well, at least they got their sleeping arrangement squared away. Once they arrived back at the motel a few minutes later, Sam slogged down to the office for a new room. The decor, if one could call it that, consisted of walls, carpet, bedspreads, and curtains of a color halfway between fresh and dried blood. Swallowing hard, Dean followed his brother inside with their duffels in his hands and locked the door behind them. He needed to sleep more than he cared about the visually putrid design. 

Sam proceeded to the bed nearest the bathroom and stripped to his underwear right there, dead on his feet. He yawned and fell into bed with a murmured, "love ya," which Dean echoed, though he doubted the kid heard him, as he was already snoring softly. 

Undressing more slowly, Dean tried to make some sense of their graceless antics earlier. Someday they'd probably laugh at themselves. Right now, it was a too-recent past to find humorous. One or both of them could have died, or gotten the libido-on-speed treatment. Perhaps there was something to that, something in whatever chemical the snake produced to make people slow, inept, and stupid when it was nearby, slower than fear alone would. 

Whatever, they'd have to find some way to mitigate the effects or kill the thing before it could work its mojo on them again. As he slid under the covers, the welcome escape of sleep took him.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing Sam saw when he opened his eyes was so close to the nightmare he was just waking from that he quickly closed them again. Blood. Fresh and dried, and everywhere. Less than a second later, he opened his eyes again and looked around, frantically searching for Dean. His brother was snoring softly, passed out on the bed that was closer to the door, and the blood turned out to be the room's main theme. Sam wondered if it was any more disconcerting than the aquatic design of the room they'd abandoned. Was it the motel owner's subconscious that had led to depicting the horrors of the surrounding lakes?

Sam got out of bed, taking care not to wake Dean, who really needed the rest. He decided to conk out for another couple of hours again, too, but he needed to piss first. That taken care of and noting that although he wasn't hard, at least something seemed still alive down there, he yawned widely and padded back to his bed.

At least that was the plan until a sideway glance out of the window made him stop in his tracks. Sam blinked, swallowed, blinked again. Then rubbed his eyes. Asked himself whether he was hallucinating. He pinched his arm hard, but the terrible image persisted. 

'Dean must not see this,' he thought, but he knew he couldn't keep this to himself. Even if he found a car shop, they'd never get the Impala fixed in time. There were bumps and dents on her sides and the roof, but worst of all was that the paint had been eaten away in large patches that looked like raw wounds. In some places, Sam thought he recognized a scaly pattern. His stomach almost turned but he got it under control. 

Should he wake Dean or should he let his brother remain unaware until he woke up on his own? If he chose the latter, Dean's first reaction was likely to be the question why Sam hadn't told him immediately. Decision made, Sam sat on Dean's bed and took his brother's hand, squeezing it gently.

"Dean, wake up," he whispered urgently. "There's something I need to tell you..."

* * *

Something was shaking him. Dean's sleep hadn't been especially restful after the events of the previous night, and he wasn't in any mood to wake up yet. Currently, he was on his side rolled in blankets, and Sam was sitting next to him, bent over him. "What?" he croaked, squinting up into hazel eyes that didn't look especially alert yet, either. 

Nothing seemed to be on fire, brandishing a weapon, or about to die. Even less than half awake, though, Dean could see that Sam was anxious from his tense posture. "Tell me what?" This couldn't be good. 

* * *

Hating to be the bearer of bad news, Sam swallowed again. He let himself be distracted by the thought that he kept swallowing since his first look out of the window...

Dean's eyes were burning into his, forcing Sam back to the present.

"Dean," he began haltingly. "Baby... She's..."

Before Sam could speak any further, his brother was out of his bed and heading to the window.

* * *

The second Sam said, 'Baby' in that tone, like they were about to meet the wrong end of a nuke, Dean was up on his feet. Poking his head between the too-red curtains, he surveyed the parking lot before him. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. He swore. And then swore some more. Someone who didn't know any better would think Baby's roof and side panels had been hit repeatedly with a crow bar – and Dean knew very well what that looked like. Embarrassment still flooded him every time he considered it. Her paint, the beautiful shiny raven-black that he meticulously detailed as often as life on the road allowed, had been scraped or melted off anywhere the snake had touched it. Bruises on humans turned dark, before fading. This was Baby bruised, and worse, with her metal showing.

Immediately Dean fumbled for clothes, not caring what he wore, if he had coffee or breakfast, or anything. He just hoped they had enough on their credit cards for repairs and a paint job, which were never cheap, but be damned if he was going to let his Baby bear the shame of snake-scale impressions and looking like some teenager's messed-up auto-body project! Some of it, he could do himself, but he'd have to find the right tools and maybe parts.

"C'mon, Sam. Get dressed. We're going to get her back to rights, and then we're going to kill that motherfucker!"

* * *

Sam's heart ached for Dean: seeing his brother like this hurt. Dean hadn't been half as upset about the snake for poisoning him, but now Sam was getting worried that Dean might go after the monster half-cocked, pure revenge on his mind but not a plan.

"Dean." Sam reached out for his arm. "Let's think for a moment." Dean didn't look as if he wanted to take a moment to think, but Sam continued in a gentle tone of voice, "She's going to need you to look after her. You. Not some mechanic from Hick-town. Listen. We'll get her covered up so that the heat and moisture here don't make it worse. Then we'll get a rental car and kill the snake. Tonight. Somehow, we'll find a way. And tomorrow morning we take Baby to Bobby. He has the tools as well as a paint chamber."

He tightened his grip on his brother's arm. "Dean. Please."

* * *

"No, Sam, I can't have her looking like that, like one of Bobby's trash heaps! That, that thing made a mess of her." Dean could hear the voice of reason, and it pissed him off. Hell, he was already pissed off, and then some. So maybe a pretty, flashy car wasn't one of life's necessities, but this was more than just a car, she was like a part of him, a significant piece to the puzzle of 'Dean'. Pacing the length of the room and back, he added, "You can rent a car for yourself if you want, but Baby needs tending. Today."

* * *

"Dean." Sam reached for his brother again and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him against his chest. "Dean, Baby needs tending. If you say it must be today, then we're leaving for Bobby's _now._ I won't even moan about Highway coffee. And we'll return after fixing her and take care of the snake. But I know you," he sighed. Dean wouldn't be happy to hear it said out loud.

"You'll feel guilty if there's another victim. The only way to make sure to avoid that is if we, both of us, end the monster right now, and leave Baby in the hands of strangers – or alone."

* * *

When Sam said they'd leave right now and go to Bobby's, Dean had opened his mouth to protest. South Dakota was a thousand miles away. The absolute least amount of time they'd waste was four days, and that was including 16-hour driving days, and only one day each to repair and paint. That was almost physically impossible, and who knew if Bobby would have all the necessary supplies around. It would probably take more than a week, and that would just not work. They had gone looking for the snake's hunting ground deliberately, brought the blood products, which brought on the attack. It would escalate, and while it was their fault, they wouldn't be there.

"Dammit, Sam," Dean burst out. "Why are you always right?" He was practically growling. "No one's touching her. We'll cover her up and deal with it when this hunt is over."

That out of the way, he was starving. "Come on, let's do what we need to do, get some food, and then plan the attack... Or counter-attack."

* * *

Sam was still holding Dean. Although his brother didn't appear to be soothed by the contact, he calmed a little and admitted, reluctantly, that Sam was right. Sam wished he were wrong, but they had no choice really. As always in their lives, the others, people, came before their own needs.

"Let's plan over coffee and breakfast. And give Bobby a call so he can go shopping for us, make sure he has all we need for the repairs." Sam tightened his embrace, then let go.

"But I need a shower first." He wrinkled his nose. "All that sweat from last night, yuck."

* * *

It finally struck Dean that Sam's arms were around him. Up till then, he'd been too busy with his anger and protective 'now now now' inner rant to pay attention. Sam was attempting to give comfort and stability, which he appreciated, he really did, even though it made him feel like some girl. He finally raised his own arms and hugged Sam back. Didn't want to give the guy a complex or anything.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he finally capitulated. "And you do stink, but so do I. Shower with a friend?"

Stepping back and rubbing a hand over his hair, matted with leftover sweat, Dean looked down his body briefly, then back up. It was morning, and Sam was in close proximity. Unmistakably, there was something between them. He couldn't call his boxers a tent, but something was awake and alive down there. "It's not completely dead. We should see if it's recovered."

Dean gave a cheesy grin to match his cheesy pick-up line, and shrugged. "Or not. It might take a year to get off after the other night." Really, he shouldn't be horny for weeks after that experience. Was he even horny? He needed stress relief more than anything, and he could take care of that himself. "You could watch me try to..." he made the universal 'jerking off' hand gesture, "although it might be more comical than sexy."

* * *

Sam snorted. "Lucky you. I'm not even going to attempt to stroke off, but if you're bored, I can lie on my back and hold it up. Then we can bet on which side it'll fall when I let go. I'm trying to think positive, though. From now on, whenever we need to get rid of an embarrassing boner, all we have to do is think snake and snake-fodder. Speaking about which, sorry, not sure I'm in the mood for a shower with a friend, unless it's for washing. Remember that I kind of volunteered to grab more, uhm, you-know-what, for later." He cringed. "I'll be happy to wash your back, though."

Sam changed the topic. "But maybe I can at least improve our mood with some intel I got from the net yesterday that I haven't yet told you about. I researched how to kill a snake. The first couple hundred hits recommended calling pest control or the local authorities." He grinned. "Maybe we should do that. Let them take care of the thing and we can go take care of Baby? Sounds tempting, huh?"

* * *

"That's OK, Sam... Now's not the time, anyway." Dean winked at his brother, anyway, though he was still tense with the gut-wrenching sight in the parking lot. "You go first. Seriously, dude. Still have a case of broke-dick, huh? I'll remember not to try to use your dick for the middle thingie of a sundial."

Then Sam brought up his impending recognizance mission to the nearest ladies' room, the definition of boner-killing. Huffing, Dean turned to dig clean clothes out of his bag, settled for almost-clean. "Nah, we can't leave this for the locals. They haven't killed it yet, and it's escalating. The only thing will happen is it'll get worse, or even worse than that, figure out how to breed."

When Sam informed him he had new intel, Dean sat back on his heels. "Withholding information, Sam? Haven't we talked about that? You wanna get us killed? We need to share everything we know." He'd been upset enough about Baby, and so this little piece of news didn't exactly make Dean happy. "So what is it, or are you going to make me wait till breakfast again?"

* * *

"No, no, I wasn't withholding intel," Sam defended himself. "I didn't think it pertained to the case, and when I decided it might after all be important, well, that was last night, and I fell asleep before I could say anything about it. But this morning, especially after..." He sighed.

"See, what I found on the net was pretty much, 'you wanna kill a snake, call for help.' Or you chop its head off, which we'd already come up with. However, there was one thread on yahell where a kid asked if one could kill snakes with salt, just like one can slugs."

Sam cast his eyes down and murmured, "When I was ten, I got into a fight at school with another kid who liked showing off how he poured salt on slugs and watched them melt. He was a bully and bloodied my nose, and then Dad read me the riot act for fighting and you threatened to give me a black eye if I didn't give up the kid's name. Which I didn't, as you may recall," he added, hoping that Dean didn't remember.

"Anyway, yesterday, I ignored salt because we thought we're dealing with a snake. But now... I mean, the thing was soaked in slime and spreading it all over. So maybe salt would affect it, after all. We'd still have to trap it, and cut its head off, and probably burn it, but maybe salt would, I dunno, hurt it enough to distract it."

* * *

While Sam spoke, Dean crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the nearest wall. He shouldn't have jumped the worst conclusion. "I wouldn't have considered salt against a snake, either. Not even after it slimed me."

He had a vague recollection of the incident Sam was referring to. But their dad and Sam had always butted heads; it was an almost daily occurrence. If Sam had been ten, Dean would have been fourteen and he'd had other things on his mind back then. Not that he was oblivious to Sam's trouble with kids his own age. More than once, he'd been more than ready to beat the tar out of some snot-nosed little brat. "Seems like every time you took your nose out of a book, there was some bully gunning for you. Dunno why, musta been 'cuz you were the smart, nerdy kid. You probably coulda kicked that kid's ass. And then Dad would have been completely pissed." He was forever going on about not calling attention to themselves. In the mood Dean was in, he flipped a mental bird to that concept, wondering why John hadn't considered his underage, lip-glossed he-whore of a son (only when they were dead broke) attention-drawing.

And... He was a million miles away. Shaking his head, Dean gave another weak smile. "We'll try the salt. Anything to slow it down. Y'know, I was covered in that yech. Some of it got on you, too. Why would its slime melt automotive paint, but not hurt human skin at all? Or, cow, apparently. The leather in Baby's back seat is fine, other than it might smell raunchy for a while. So weird."

Sam seemed like he was in no hurry to shower. "Speaking of raunchy..." 

* * *

Sam nodded. "I could have taken the other kid out, but yeah, then Dad would have bloodied my nose instead. Same result, only that we'd also have left town in a hurry, and I never liked to fight. Still don't, unless it really is necessary. But at least that idiot may turn out to have provided something helpful after all these years."

He thought for a moment, then spoke again. "I guess it makes sense that the slime doesn't affect humans. I mean, unless the snake wanted to pre-digest them, but it doesn't eat them. It only, well, you know. As for Baby, maybe the snake thought it could get at us if it melted through the roof." He shuddered.

"Enough of that. You said that Baby's back seat may smell raunchy for a while. Baby isn't the only one." Sam made a show of sniffing under his armpit. "Besides, yeah, raunchy. I'm not sure little Sam is up to much, but maybe we should find out about him and little Dean after all. So, it looks as if I've – _you've_ – changed my mind about a shower with a friend."

* * *

They'd talked out the subject. The mention of showering together perked Dean up a bit. Little Dean, too. Just a bit. He smirked at Sam's antics. "OK, Stinky, I hear yah. The 'Littles' might be on disability leave for a while yet. At least we know they're not permanently DOA." With that, he turned and entered the bathroom, which to his relief didn't match the room and was stark white instead. He took care of his morning piss. Not orange, but still dark. Sighing, he resolved again to drink more water. Looking at the sink reminded him to brush his teeth, which he did quickly. If there was any mood to be killed, morning breath would do it.

Dean dropped his boxers and pulled his t-shirt off over his head with one hand, fiddling with the shower tap with the other. "I hope there's hot water..." It wasn't as hot as he liked, but at more than warm, he couldn't bitch. About then, Sam appeared, filling up the small room, and crowded up behind him, still in what he'd slept in. "You gonna shower in those clothes?"

First Dean made sure they had fresh towels within reach. He'd cleaned up thoroughly, or rather, Sam had cleaned him, after his... snake-Viagra-induced mating frenzy, or whatever-the-fuck that had been, but after their run-in with the monster last night, he felt the need to wash away its proximity again. "C'mon, Sam, you never know how long the hot will last." He reached for the hem of Sam's shirt, running both hands up the mostly-smooth torso as he pushed up the soft, worn cotton. "You're pretty hot, yourself."

It was a reach, but Dean managed just fine to pull the t-shirt over Sam's head. Funny how his brother stood still for it even this long. Usually, even sexually, there was plenty of jockeying for position. Instead, Sam just looked at him keenly, eyes shining. Dean wasn't sure what he had in mind, but impromptu was totally fine. He hooked both thumbs into the waistband of Sam's underwear, one near each hip indent, and lowered the boxer briefs till Sam could shimmy them down to his ankles. "C'mon," he repeated, lower, turning and moving the shower curtain aside a little. "You took such good care of me yesterday. Let me return the favor."

* * *

"Showering in our clothes would save us a trip to the laundromat," Sam snorted, "but it'd be way less fun, of course." He stood still while Dean divested him first of his shirt, then of his underpants. It felt familiar to have Dean undressing him, but strange at the same time. When Dean reminded him that Sam had taken care of him the night before, Sam thought he recognized the source of the strange feeling.

"You're always looking out for me and after me," he said with a lump in his throat. "I keep trying to do that for you, too, but... you don't always let me." Sam met his brother's eyes. "Thank you for letting me care for you yesterday." He smiled. "I'll be happy to let you return the favor. And then, I hope you'll let me return the favor, too."

Sam stepped into the shower and leaned against Dean. "Feels good..."

* * *

"Yeah, does feel good." The depth of emotion turned Sam's voice husky, and Dean's wasn't far behind. The skin contact, the warm weight when Sam leaned against his back was more than welcome. He picked up the little bottle of shower gel provided by the motel. "It's always been my thing, since forever. 'Watch out for Sammy.' When we were kids, it was because I had to, but since, well, you know, it was because I wanted to."

The cap was slippery, but Dean got it unscrewed and dumped a blob of gel into his palm. "'Kay, let's get you wet..." His lips quirked. He leaned sideways, letting the water run over Sam's body. Then he turned around and rubbed the thick liquid onto his brother's chest, spreading it around with both hands. There wasn't a lot of lather, but it smelled nice, like cucumber and lime. Aware that Sam hadn't really been in the mood, Dean didn't play around like sometimes, although he couldn't resist stroking his thumbs over the dusky nipples just once. "You know, we should switch places so you're closest to the water." 

* * *

_Let's get you wet..._ Hearing these words, Sam wanted to giggle: it was exactly what nine-year-old Dean had said on more than one occasion when five-year-old Sam didn't want to wash. Back then, it had been 'Watch out for Sammy,' because he had to. And now he wanted to. Sam felt loved, and the lump in his throat tightened. He wanted to tell Dean how much he loved him, how scared he was of losing him, but he was also scared of embarrassing his brother who, despite his obvious love for Sam, still tended to withdraw from 'chick-flick moments.' However, there were other ways to show Dean his love. Besides, Dean knew.

Sam noticed immediately that Dean was respecting his reluctance to have sex in the shower by only _washing_ him, but feeling his brother's hands on his nipples made them tighten up and he gasped, "The only thing I want to be close to is _you!"_

* * *

Feeling Sam's flat male nipples harden into tiny points against his hands gave Dean such a feeling of satisfaction. Longing, too. It was probably only a physical response, yet Sam followed up his body's reaction by telling Dean he only wanted to be close to him. Only to him. "You have me, Sam. I'm not going anywhere."

He wondered what had brought that on. The near-miss with the snake last night? They'd had lot worse things happen to them over the years. Injuries and such. As Dean washed Sam's arms next, remembering, when he felt the thickened skin of the bullet wound scar, that near-death was nothing new, either. Hell, he'd actually _been_ dead, in the medical sense.

Aw, dammit, Sam needed him right now and he'd missed his cue. Delayed though it was, Dean stepped up and took Sam into his arms, holding him close. Warm. Wet. Perfect. Sam's chest rose and fell against his, as they breathed together. With one arm slung low around Sam's back, just below the arch and the other high up, where his fingers could reach to stoke the fine, dripping strands of his hair, the curls pulled straighter by the weight of the water, Dean closed his eyes and kissed Sam's shoulder. It wasn't anything more than comfort.

Tell that to his cock, which was struggling valiantly with limited success to join the party. It made for some ticklish moments. "Ignore that," he murmured. "I'm just glad you're alright, and that I'm mostly alright. Only want you, too." 

* * *

"Mmmhhh..." Sam sighed happily when Dean leaned against his chest after kissing his shoulder. Sometimes he wished he was smaller, so he could rub his nose against Dean's pecs, but although Sam was the taller man, Dean often appeared to be the stronger one when they held each other.

Usually, they only stood like this, with their arms wrapped around each other under the warm spray, just before or after having hot sex. Sam felt some movement from Dean's groin, but not the hardness he was used to. Likewise, his own dick gave a brief twitch but remained limp. To his surprise, it made their position feel even more intimate than having sex.

"'M not ignoring it," Sam whispered over Dean's ear. "However, little Sam still thinks he's a wet noodle. Sorry. But if you'd like my tongue I'll be more than happy to play."

He shivered at the memory of the night before when he'd given Dean so much more than his tongue! For the first time in his life, Sam had been allowed in his brother's body, but now he feared that Dean had second thoughts about it. Maybe that was the reason why neither of them could get it up? Sam because he felt guilty for taking what Dean had always refused him, and Dean because under the influence of the poison he'd not only allowed but needed Sam's dick inside him. It was bound to return the abuse memories, and Sam didn't know how to deal with it. His solutions to problems always included talking, which Dean simply didn't do...

Only one way to shut up his own brain. Sam leaned down and brushed his lips over his brother's and licked at them. "How's this for starters?"

* * *

The wet noodle reference put a momentary grin on Dean's face. "Don't apologize; we've had a weird last two days." Sam's mouth, and the gust of breath from him whispering, so close to his ear tightened his body. The offer of Sam's tongue like that would have made Dean steel-hard in seconds on any other day. His dick gave another weak jump as a little more blood moved to fill it. "He's trying..." Dean started, about to giggle when he felt Sam shudder.

He looked up quickly. Concerned Sam was grossed out by Dean becoming aroused, Dean was relieved to be licked across the mouth rather than punched. "Yesssss..." he hissed, pulling Sam closer and kissing him back. "We gotta... finish washing... But I'd love whatever... you're willing to give." Between phrases, he let his tongue flick out to taste Sam, or kiss his soft pink lips. Without any conscious direction, he'd palmed one of Sam's butt cheeks. The firm meat of it flexed in his hand, and he moaned.

Since the offer was 'tongue', Dean assumed that, even if he proved capable of fucking, that Sam was too sore as well as too limp to want that. He refused to push or otherwise hurt Sam, who had allowed Dean to use his body and helped him with the poisons. No other man or woman on the face of the earth would have been there for him like that. "I love you, you know." He looked up, wondering how Sam had managed four inches on him. It had happened when Sam was 16. By then they'd avoided each other most of the time, and then Sam had been gone for years. Since Sam had returned to hunting, Dean had had time to get used to it again, but sometimes he missed his little – and smaller – kid brother.

One thing made them level though – being horizontal. But maybe there was something else. "Sam, would you get down there and use that tongue on my dick? Or lick my balls. Wanna get so hard for you, from your tongue, till I ache." Dean did really love that feeling, being uncomfortably hard for a while before allowing himself – or being allowed – to come. It almost didn't feel right without that. The origin was in their past, too, being hard for his brother for what seemed like years before they could sneak time for themselves, and later, the futility of wanting him and thinking they'd never be together again.

Telling Sam what he wanted popped the visuals into mind. His cock thickened, and Dean rubbed it against Sam's thigh. "Only if you don't mind," he added. "I can always take care of it." 

* * *

"Do I mind?" Sam's eyebrows went up and he smiled. "Do I ever? I love it." He pulled Dean even closer. "And I love you. If I can't get it up, my pleasure will be watching and feeling yours." Sam kissed Dean's lips again, then he slowly moved back and lowered his body on his knees, the smile never leaving his face.

Dean's erection was half-mast before his eyes and Sam nudged the tip against his cheek. He opened his mouth to whisper but had to speak up so that his brother could hear him over the shower. "I'm gonna lick you," he announced. "Gonna lick you slowly until you're begging me to let you cum. Then I'm gonna lick your balls until they're so tight that they'll draw up almost into your body. And then I'm gonna lick your hole, in and out, and your dick is gonna ache."

Sam heard Dean's breathing turn harsh as he dragged the flat of his tongue along Dean's length and started lapping at the crown. "Just like this," he said, "gonna lick you forever." Waves of lust began to spread from his own groin. He still wasn't hard, but as he'd just told Dean, he was taking his pleasure from Dean's. He was going to make Dean go out of his mind with need, and it would be so different from the need he'd felt the day before that Sam hoped it would rub out the memory of the violation by the snake and the aftermath.

"Gonna make you feel so good..."

* * *

Hearing Sam's teasing but sincere words in that dirty-sweet low tone, Dean moaned again as shivers of white-hot heat chased over him. The things he wanted, given in almost a brusque directive so that Sam could back out if he wanted, were repeated back to him, elaborated upon and embellished, and he _did_ ache already, not even fully hard yet.

Sam made good on his promise with a series of rapid little licks to the head. He wasn't just teasing; the slightly raspy surface sought for and found Dean's most sensitive spots, like along the frenulum and just under the ridge, and Sam played them without mercy. Dean's erection rose by another few degrees, as if it were trying to follow the source of pleasure. He had to grab the curtain rod and push his legs apart as his knees started to tremble. "Feels so good," he groaned, canting his hips forward. "Sammy, please...!"

He didn't have any clear idea of what he was asking for, only that Sam keep going. The hand not curled tightly around the curtain bar fell to Sam's hair, threading through the wet strands. Never in his life had Dean been a hair-puller – that was just obnoxious. Yet that's what he wanted to do – yank Sam's open mouth down on him and just hump his face. No doubt Sam would let him and take it all.

Some other time. It was more tortuous to let Sam take his own sweet time with him, and Dean was determined to let him bring it to a slow frenzy. He blinked water from his eyes, ass muscles clenched to make sure he continued to stand still for his brother. The licking went on and on, Sam circling his tongue all the way around the head and the tip poking into his slit. Dean hissed at the invasion. "Uuunngh! God, Sam!"

Heavy, he had no idea how when they'd given everything and more yesterday, Dean's balls tightened. He wasn't anywhere near close. No, it was only in service of forcing a lone drop of pre-cum up his inner tube. The slow crawl up the inside of his dick combined with the licks and kisses Sam was now lavishing along the shaft nearly drove Dean to his knees. 

* * *

Dean's trembling legs and the way he widened his stance told Sam that his brother was incredibly aroused. On any other day, Dean's cock would have been silk-clad steel, dripping with pleasure. Today, Sam had to rely on other indicators, and he smiled. He wouldn't have been able to count Dean's tells, but he loved each and every one of them.

Dean's hand twitched, a sign that he wanted to pull Sam's mouth down on his erection. Sam responded by licking long tongue swipes up and down the shaft, then wrapping his lips around the crown and sucking gently on the tip. He was rewarded with a trickle of bitter fluid and a groan that deepened when he dabbed his tongue into the tiny wet slit.

Sam didn't need his hands on Dean's chest to feel how his brother's nipples tightened into hard nubs that would start to hurt if Dean didn't find release soon. Neither did he put his hands on Dean's nether cheeks, and yet he knew that there was a region he could exactly map out in his mind where the skin would go goose-fleshed the closer Dean got. There was the barely-perceptive trembling of the flanks, the widening of his nostrils, the tiny quick swallowing motions interrupting the raspy breathing – and it turned Sam on to no end.

He let Dean's dick slide in and out of his mouth through his wet lips a few times, then kissed a line down to the balls. The sac hadn't tightened as much as Sam had expected, but today everything was different, and the prospect of exploring this other, softer – which wasn't a pun, as he quickly told himself – side of his brother filled him with awe.

Dean seemed so vulnerable today! Sam knew that Dean trusted him with his life, and more than that, with his balls, the most sensitive part of his body, and Sam wanted to return the trust by making it good for Dean. He sucked the twin glands into his mouth, marveling once again how they were smaller than his own, and why that aroused him so much – probably because they were Dean's, and everything about Dean served to raise Sam's desire.

Caressing the stone-hard marbles with his tongue, he let go of them as carefully as he'd gathered them and placed soft kisses all over them. Sam extended his kisses to Dean's quivering flanks, smiling when Dean flinched, ticklish and oversensitive. He put his hands on his brother's butt cheeks and gently nudged them apart, then knelt further down, so he could lick at Dean's perineum, the space behind his balls that led to his cleft.

With his arms now wrapped around Dean's trembling thighs, Sam rubbed his nose against the perineum, massaging Dean's prostate from outside, while he extended his tongue and nudged the scared little hole with the tip. Dean was shaking so hard now that Sam tightened his arms.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed, hoping this would last forever.

* * *

He just stood there and let it happen. Sam's tongue and lips all over his groin, long hands cupping his ass, and the hot cavern of mouth had him spellbound. Infinitely careful, Sam covered his ballsack in swipes of his tongue and kisses before sucking the whole pouch into his mouth. Dean gasped, it was just too good. The probing tongue, rolling the hardened stones...

But Sam wasn't near done. He tenderly let go of Dean's balls with a few last kisses, proceeding further down, and back, the wet tongue extending again while he somehow managed to press up against Dean's prostate from the outside. The exhausted gland quivered inside, and new clear fluid blurted from him. Suddenly Dean was hard as a rock, his dick thumping against his lower belly. Slick nudges to his hole nearly made him scream; it was all he could do to keep quiet, not very well at that as he was breathing like a steam engine and grunting with every little prod.

Just then the water turned ice cold. "Noooo!!" Dean whined, the freezing blast taking the edge off and then some. Sam pulled back and got a face full of the icy rush. "Dammit!" Dean cursed, teeth chattering. "We'd better wash and get out before we freeze anything off." Shaking his head, he reached out a hand to pull Sam to his feet.

* * *

"What the...?" Sam spluttered as ice cold water hit his back. When he scrambled back on his feet, he thought that Dean had been lucky that his balls hadn't been in Sam's mouth in the moment the hot water ran out. Not surprisingly, the cold spray didn't feel any better on his front than it had on his back. If he'd ever had as much as a hint of an erection, it was gone now. In fact, Sam's dick felt as if it was trying to stand up... _on the inside of his body!_

He stepped as close to the shower wall as he could in order to escape the freezing flood. Dean was attempting the same on the other wall. "Right," Sam said through rattling teeth. "I guess that's a reminder to wash quickly and get on with the snake killing. After coffee, of course." He reached for the shampoo and poured some on his palm, hesitating briefly while he decided to wash Dean first, not sure if he'd offered it to his brother but ready to make good on the promise, whether it had been given or not.

"Just wondering," he grimaced, "how the snake would like freezing water. It certainly made short work of whatever had returned of my libido."

* * *

"Yeah, I hate to admit it, but m-me, too," Dean shivered. He picked up the shower gel, poured some more into his hand and handed the bottle to Sam. "Here. We're better off washing ourselves, for speed." He made short work of it, washing down the front of his body while keeping an eye on Sam. Freezing or not, he could still watch and appreciate the hurried show. His nipples had been hard from being so turned on, and now they hurt so bad from that plus the cold he hissed at the utilitarian touch.

"Okay, amendment – do my backside?" Dean asked, turning around, shuffling his feet so he wouldn't slip.

* * *

"Good point," Sam admitted. Dean was right: speed was of the essence. Not only because of the snake, but how on earth was it possible that the tap water could be so cold in such a warm climate? He poured more shampoo in his hands and scrubbed himself efficiently. When they'd grown up, warm water had often been a luxury, and although Sam didn't like the cold, he was used to it: it wasn't the cold that annoyed him, but the surprise and the interruption.

When Dean asked him to wash his backside, Sam complied. He'd already finished with his own back, but Dean was still covered in bruises and would need gentler, and thus slower, treatment. It hurt Sam to see his brother's smooth and fair skin marred by the ugly rainbow of colors the snake had inflicted, and he wished he could take the pain away that Dean must feel but would deny if asked.

He finished his task, then stepped from the stall with relief. Dean followed him immediately, and Sam wrapped a towel around his brother's shoulders before taking one for himself.

"If you want," he said almost shyly, "we could continue in the bedroom."

* * *

Sam washing him brought home how banged up he was. Dean would have had a snicker over that – banged up – if the damned bruises weren't a literal pain in the ass. Sam's body had some marks as well, from him, and a goose-egg on his head where he'd thumped it on the Impala. 

While the soothing touches of Sam's hands on his back and butt felt nice, he was happy to get out of the cold. Dean nodded his thanks, and agreement to get out of the no longer warm bathroom, and rubbed the towel over his shoulders and arms. After he scrubbed it through his hair, he wrapped it around his waist and walked out into the room to make sure the curtains were closed. A look outside would have totally killed his mood, so he avoided it. Turning to Sam had the opposite effect. "I give it five minutes to get this thing," he glanced down at his groin, "up and running again, and if it's a no-go, we save it for later." 

Plopping down on the nearest bed, Dean scuttled backwards over the rumpled covers. As he went, he peeled off the towel, which was going to be lost to all his wiggling around anyway. "Come and get me! ...or the other way around." 

* * *

They dried themselves, then Dean issued a challenge to Sam, that he had five minutes to make him hard again. Dean sat, or lolled, but positioned himself _somehow_ on Sam's bed, and told him to come and get him. Sam threw his head back and laughed. "How about we get each other?"

He let his towel drop to the ground and crawled onto the mattress, nudging Dean's thighs apart so that he could kneel between them. "Got you already," he winked. "And I intend to continue what I started earlier."

Sam's voice turned husky. "Remember what I said I'd do? I'm gonna lick your dick and balls, and then I'll lick into your hole, tiny little laps that'll drive you mad, and then I'm gonna make you cum so hard that you'll scare the neighbors with your yells and screeches."

The thought of doing this to his brother made the blood pool in Sam's groin again. His breathing turned harsh when he added, "If you have anything left when I'm done with you, you're welcome to _come and get me."_

* * *

Dean had to swallow the drool that flooded his mouth. "Fuck yeah, make me scream!" Sam, standing there naked with a hip cocked, throwing his challenge right back at him, the evidence of how turned on he was rising as he spoke could do nothing but provoke the same reaction in Dean. Returning the heated look, Dean leaned back further onto his elbows and spread his legs, leaving them bent at the knees with his feet planted. Weird though it seemed to him, Sam's fascination with his slightly curved bowlegs played to his advantage in this position. He rolled his hips once, his dick semi-hard again and twitching now that it didn't have cold water to contend with. 

Sam was on him in less than two seconds. Any other smart-ass remark Dean might have made was lost to those huge hands on his hips, sliding between his legs to caress his length, and to Sam's rain of hot wet licks to every sensitized nerve ending. He could vocalize nothing but pleading whines, "hhng, hhng," like an injured wildcat. Again, his erection happened in slow motion, as if waiting for his brother to suck him to full staff. Twisting a little, Dean rubbed his cock against Sam's sharp cheekbone as he angled his head sideways to get at his balls. His body's reserves must have built up a little – just at that moment, a drop of pre-cum landed between Sam's eye and his sideburn. 

He promised himself: when Sam got done with him, he'd make it so good for him, too. "S-s-s-ammy..." was all he managed. 

* * *

"Oh, don't worry, I will," Sam said sweetly and went to work. Holding Dean's hips steady with both hands, he kissed the tip of his thick length, then ran his fingers up and down it, and further down between Dean's legs. Marveling how soft the skin was there, he continued to caress the inside of the quivering thighs while lapping greedily at Dean's erection. If either of them had doubted they could perform again, Sam knew they needn't be worried. Dean's moans sent Sam's blood down between his legs so swiftly that the weight of his swollen dick hurt, in the most incredibly fantastic way he could imagine.

Sam pulled his face back a little to look at his brother's manhood with hungry eyes. Dean wouldn't stay still, however, and he rubbed against Sam's cheek, even smeared a drop of pre-cum on it. Feeling it, Sam kissed the purple glans and moved back even further. 

"Lick it up," he rasped and stretched out along Dean, who was whining pitifully, so Sam decided to have mercy. Reaching down again, he wrapped one hand around the thick shaft and teased the head, then began to stroke slowly.

"As soon as you've cleaned my face, I'm gonna lick your hole. Up to you how long you want to wait," Sam whispered.

* * *

Sam slithered up the bed next to him, demanding Dean lick his own drizzle off his face. "Sweet Jesus!" Dean whispered. It turned him on to no end when Sam tried to boss him around during sex – it meant his brother was holding back nothing, out of his mind aroused. He grasped Dean's cock, fingers wrapping around the base and tugging, borderline rough, swiping his thumb through the slick leaking out. His hips jabbed reflexively; there was no way his body could refuse what was basically a hand job. 

To reach Sam's face, Dean had to roll a little to the side. The shiny droplet had already run downwards, and Dean chased it with his tongue, then detoured around and took Sam's mouth, feeding him back the sweet-salt taste. Fuck! Sam had promised to lick his ass till he came, or some such, but Dean almost didn't want to let him go. Sam was an amazing kisser, giving and taking equally while he held Dean's eyes. 

"Baby," Dean breathed, when he had to come up for air. Okay, it might be strange he called his brother and his car by the same pet name – other than 'Sammy', of course – but it showed his devotion. Not equal, because he would always choose Sam if it came to that, and he hoped Sam knew it. "You make me feel... so incredible." Moving with the strength of feeling, humping against Sam's thigh, encased in his fist, Dean hissed, "Wanna do the same for you. 69?" 

* * *

Dean licked Sam's cheek and then drew him into a deep kiss. Their tongues fought fiercely, teeth gnashing, and Sam's lip got caught between them. He tasted blood and it turned him on even more, although only a moment ago he wouldn't have thought that possible. When Dean pulled back to breathe, Sam wiped his mouth on the back of his hand – the one that wasn't pulling on his brother's desperate erection – and gave Dean a meaningful look, until Dean's eyes followed to the blood smear, then Sam licked it up, slowly and deliberately, and fed it to him in a kiss, just like Dean had done before with his pre-cum.

"Oh fuck, yeah," Sam moaned a second later at the suggestion of the two of them licking each other simultaneously. "I want your tongue on my dick and I'm gonna fuck your mouth till I blow, and then you're going to swallow it all. I won't let you cum until you've drunk me down, and then I'll love you with my hands and tongue, inside and out, until you beg for mercy."

* * *

The showing of blood – the scrape on Sam's lip from his teeth, then his brother licking it up, pressing it back into his mouth, Dean swallowing it – melded them as one just as sharing their seed always had. More-so, in some way, for blood was life, not just the potential of it, never realized. At the same time, Sam was stroking his dick like he'd never let go of it again. "You're gonna kill me!" Dean gasped as a torrent of dirty propositions went on and on. "Do it, all of it! Make you beg, too..." Listening to that litany, he ground into Sam's fist till he had to stop or it would be over. And he flopped onto his back again. 

But not for long. Before he got too comfortable just lying there, Dean half sat up again and turned himself around so he was on his side, facing Sam's groin with his own crotch in Sam's face. Never having done this angle before, he started by grasping the shiny-hard purplish skin of Sam's cock and licking all over the head, moving the cuff of foreskin up and down, although there wasn't much play with him fully distended. He cradled Sam's balls with the other hand, and god, what a handful, it was like they swelled when he was turned on, before the final rush where they tried to crawl back up into his body. 

Every little noise and movement he got out of Sam made him want to want to devour him alive, eat and suck and swallow him. Dean fit his mouth around the thudding erection, careful of teeth, and sucked hard, till Sam's hips jerked. Pre-cum spurted a few drops at a time against his tongue and upper palate, as he pressed his lips together around the veined shaft and pulled. 

Any time, he knew, that pink, dirty mouth was going to be put to work on him, and doing this while being blown or licked was going to try his coordination and control to the limit. Dean nudged Sam's thighs wider, spitting out his dick to tongue all the way to the base, around his balls, and further; he had to hitch himself against the bed, stretch for it, but he had to keep going. Sam's body sensed his intent and tilted for him, spread, till his tongue hit the tight little hole, a little reddened yet and hot, and he lapped at it like it was water and he was starving in the desert. 

Just then, Sam's hands slid all over him, as if trying to get a grip, not so easy when he was hitching and twisting all over the place. Dean felt the humid warmth of his breath, so close. "Gonna tongue-fuck you, Sammy..." And he thrust his pointed, wet tongue through the rim, as far as he could reach with it. 

* * *

Dean turned, first on his back, then on his side such that they faced each others' genitals. Sam's nostrils widened as he inhaled his brother's musky scent. Since they'd finally admitted their feelings for each other, Sam thought he'd become addicted to Dean's ball sweat – something he'd never thought possible before, but now every scent and taste of the body he'd come – _literally, many times!_ – to love so much was nectar and ambrosia to him.

Surprisingly, Dean had his mouth on Sam's dick first, and Sam howled with the sensation. Unlike his brother, Sam had only a slightly sore hole, whereas he knew he'd have to be careful and gentle with Dean's abused parts – although Dean hadn't complained when Sam had pulled on his erection, hard; quite the opposite.

Dean didn't seem to go for soft and gentle at all today. He sucked hard on Sam until Sam's hips jerked and he could barely keep himself from thrusting into the hot mouth that apparently intended to suck and squeeze him within an inch of his life. 

Sam had howled before, but now he was so breathless that he feared he might faint eventually. Dean let go of his dick, but immediately went for his balls, and, oh god, his hole. Sam adjusted his position to give his brother the best possible access, then moved his mouth over Dean's erection: if Dean's tongue penetrated him he knew he'd be lost, and the taste of Dean would make being fucked so much sweeter.

As he gave the fat crown a first tentative lick, it was instantly rewarded by a spurt of bitter-salty fluid. Jess had always refused to do this for him after Sam had eaten meat, claiming that it made his spunk taste disgusting, but Sam loved Dean's taste, regardless, and he needed more of it. 

Smiling, he opened his mouth as wide as he could. Holding up the throbbing shaft with his hand at the base, he took Dean between his lips without the skin touching his mouth, so that Dean would feel the heat but nothing more – for now. However, when Dean announced that he was going to tongue-fuck him and made true on his words the very same second, Sam closed his mouth in a sharp intake of breath, involuntarily sucking hard. Somehow, he'd managed to cover his teeth with his lips, but it was still far from gentle.

Dean's body was jerking and it was quite a feat for Sam to hold him still while at the same time trying not to blow his wad immediately. From the sounds he made, Dean wasn't far behind, but that wasn't what Sam had planned. Pushing back in a feverish attempt to invite Dean's tongue even deeper inside his aching body, desperate for a touch on _that_ spot, Sam gathered Dean's balls in his hand, carefully but firmly.

"Want your finger in me and your mouth on me," he gasped as he let go of Dean for the second it took him to speak. "And you're not cumming until you scream and beg for me to make it happen." To emphasize his point, he pulled on Dean's twin glands, not so much that it would hurt him, but hard enough to provide a little discomfort.

"God, I love it when you let me boss you around..."

* * *

If he hadn't been moaning all high-pitched like a little girl, Dean would've chuckled over Sam's admission of his dominant side, so rarely allowed out. His brother told him exactly what he wanted, and Dean immediately replaced his tongue in Sam's hole with his finger. There was nothing quite like rimming – not that he'd ever consider doing it to anyone else, even if they weren't exclusive – so he continued to lap all the way around the band of muscle his digit breached. 

Sam had him literally by the balls now, telling Dean he would not be getting off till he first satisfied Sam and then begged for release. Somehow, being restrained gave him more confidence to be really wild, since Sam would refuse via the punishing grip around his sac to let him cum. Dean thrust into Sam's torrid mouth, careful not to gag him, letting more groans just roll out of him as he rolled his hips.

But Sam had said, _want your finger in me and your mouth on me,_ this second 'me' meaning his upward-curving, leaking cock, so big Dean had to open his mouth wide to engulf the head. Inch by inch, Dean took it in. As he swallowed, his throat massaged the firm head. Sam was sweating, his thighs and abdominal muscles trembling, and Dean loved his involuntary show of sexual need. When the need for air brought sparkles to the corners of his graying vision, Dean slid his mouth off in a long, slick glide, gulped a breath and rasped, "When I go down on you again, fuck my mouth. Don't hold yourself back." 

Nor would he. Sam was huge and strong and passionate, and Dean needed some way to keep him grounded. Slowly enough not to get his balls yanked off for his trouble, Dean pushed Sam onto his back and straddled his chest. He pinked up, thinking of how his ass was in Sam's face now, but it was a necessary trade-off. The back of each of his knees was wedged into Sam's armpits, and he could feel his dick leave smears of pre-cum in the valley between his brother's pectorals. 

Taking another huge breath, Dean wrapped his lips tight around the throbbing shaft. He bobbed, flailing his tongue. Escaping drool, he used for lube; every time Sam jabbed and clenched, Dean hummed and moaned around his mouthful, the in-and-out thrust of his finger mirrored by the pace of his sucking. He found the bump of Sam's prostate, and nudged at it; working the gland would render his lover helpless to stop himself. 

Whatever Sam was doing to his taint and ass and between his legs had Dean totally unglued. He too was in the throes of savoring every single thrust, and he couldn't stop. Only, he couldn't cum. Inhaling more oxygen and heavy pheromones, he held Sam down with his body weight and tightened his suction till he was sure he'd be pulling that slick and seed mixture out like slurping a milkshake through a straw if he sucked any harder. By now, Sam was groaning non-stop, animalistic and raw. Quickly, Dean worked a second finger into him, stretching the rim, intent upon his goal. Focused, he managed to ignore his burning balls and the wetness resulting from his own hole being licked as his brother wrenched upwards. 'Bingo!' Dean prodded both fingertips against the spongy pleasure gland, and Sam convulsed so hard he nearly bucked him off. 

* * *

Sam continued to suck hard on Dean, and he discovered immediately that his brother was holding back. He made a mental note to make Dean lose his composure later to the point where he'd fuck Sam's mouth so deep that he'd almost choke him. The thought sent another shock wave of pleasure to his dick and balls. And then Dean telling him to not hold back brought him so close to the peak that Sam didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he suddenly found himself being pushed on his back.

He settled for relieved. Dean was straddling him with his thighs spread wide and his cleft right before Sam's face. Laid out for him like the most delicious feast he could imagine. Sam had let go of Dean's balls for the move, but now that he found the heavy twin glands dangling in front of his face, he gripped them again, tightly, and massaged them down.

Then, Dean's mouth was on him, and Sam forgot everything except how to moan deeply and thrust even deeper. A finger traced along his cleft, found the hole, and slid in after an agonizingly long time of teasing the rim. Unerringly, the finger went straight to his inner gland, and Sam saw stars.

_"Nuuuhhhh!!!"_ It took him a while to figure out that the moans and grunts he heard did not come from a wounded animal but from himself. Dean worked his prostate expertly, and if it hadn't felt so fan-fucking-tastic, Sam would have been annoyed by the smugness he knew Dean felt for knowing exactly what his manipulation of the tiny gland did to his little brother.

Sam thrust into Dean's mouth, gaining speed, and pressed back on the palpating fingers that teased him in a rhythm that was making him wild. His hands were still on Dean's balls, and it cost him an almost inhuman effort to pull himself together and not get lost – at least not completely! – in his own pleasure when Dean's needs were so obvious. He felt the thick erection curve against his chest, where it had already leaked a significant amount of pre-spunk between his pectorals. If they fell asleep once they'd finished, it would likely rip the remaining hairs off of his chest, but the intensity of their lovemaking would make the pain worth every second of it.

He let go of Dean's balls, and the tight glands almost jumped up against the perineum. Sam grinned between moans, put both hands on Dean's butt cheeks and gently parted them to lick a broad stripe up the valley. He was sure that Dean was squirming mentally at the exposure and his grin widened: in a second, Dean would be beyond thinking about anything but having his ass loved. He blew on the wet, quivering pucker, then thrust his tongue in as deeply as he could and began to move it in and out, alternating between quick, hard stabs and gentle slides, thus denying his brother a chance to adjust to a rhythm. Sam grabbed Dean's balls again and withdrew his tongue. Sucking on the rim immediately aborted Dean's disappointed whine and turned it into frantic moans around Sam's dick.

Right in that moment, Dean also corkscrewed a second finger into him, and stars flashed before his inner eyes when Dean nudged his prostate again. Sam's whole lower body was throbbing with need, and he knew it was going to be a matter of seconds. 

"God, fuck!" Sam yelled. He couldn't hold back any longer, but Dean had said to, Sam began to fuck Dean's mouth in earnest, not taking care if he choked him, following Dean's 'command'. Two firm thrusts, three, and he felt the juices rising in his balls.

Almost, almost, there, THERE, _THERE...!_

"Nuugh, unghhh, nnnhh…"

The flood tided over, and Sam shoved his tongue as deep into Dean as he could while sucking on the rim, with his eyes watering from the fierce strength of the orgasm rushing over him. He was in Dean, Dean was in him, was his last conscious thought as his mind and emotions were ripped along the maelstrom of his climax.

* * *

Sam's volume reached the level where if they had neighbors, they'd be pounding on the wall any time. He was totally gone, spreading his legs wide, shaking, sweating, rutting into Dean's mouth. Somehow he managed to not lose contact with Dean's hole, spurred to latch on to the rim somehow and suck it while he licked inside. Neither his tongue or hips held any recognizable rhythm – it was all push, push, push while he jerked and twitched. Dean could tell by the wizened, thick-skinned, wrinkled sac, pulled up so tight little dents appeared at the lowest sphere of each where the ligaments attached, and by how the erection prying his jaws apart grew two more sizes that Sam was going to lose it and give him so much... so much...

Totally incoherent howls and multiple splashes of spunk burst from Sam, and Dean swallowed frantically. Bitter-salt goo filled him up and he did choke a little, a couple dribbles escaping his lips. Hell, Sam probably liked that little edge of 'too much'. Through it, he moaned encouragement, 'Sam' and 'more', words totally lost. At last, Sam's body tightened so hard it was amazing he didn't pull a muscle, then went limp. Dean kept his brother's slowly deflating cock in his mouth, milking out the last drops; when Sam flinched away, he licked him clean. 

But Sam hadn't let go of his aching balls, and he was still lavishing attention to his ass. His rim. He was being rough with the jewels but delicate with the hole because – Dean was sure he knew how Sam thought – the long night of snake-induced hypersexuality had ended with Dean getting fucked, which he wasn't used to. It had only been the second time in their lives he'd allowed Sam near his asshole and he'd gone from technical virgin of like eight years to being speared on _that_. And Sam would feel emotional pangs if he thought he hurt Dean at all. It was like he was trying to make up for it. Yeah, it had hurt. At the same time, it had been some of the most intense pleasure of his life. And he'd had to have it, to save for sure his sanity and possibly his life by squeezing the massive amounts of excess fluid from his freakishly enlarged prostate, another effect of the Mega-snake's slime. 

In any case, Sam was being extra careful; now that Dean could concentrate on his own pleasure and needed more friction, he wasn't getting it. There were fluttering licks, the wet in-and-out slide that had him red in the face, and then the iron grip just above his nuts. Tightening the grip of his knees around the sides of Sam's chest, Dean arched sensually and humped harder against the middle of it, sliding his erection forward and back, forward and through his own slick. 

"Mmm, Sam, 's good. And it hurts... I gotta come, you were so fucking sexy, I'm ready to blow." Oh, he knew he wouldn't get off that easy, but he had to start somewhere. 

* * *

Usually, Sam came down slowly after climaxing. Today, it ended suddenly because he had nothing more to give. His body tensed in order to keep up the height, but his muscles refused. The only parts of his body that would cooperate when he was whimpering as Dean licked him clean were his mouth and hands; the latter kept their grip around Dean's family jewels while the former continued licking and sucking and stabbing into Dean's tight hole.

Dean said he was ready to blow. It wasn't any news to Sam who knew his brother's body in every stage of arousal, and who was determined to bring him to completion as slowly as he could, so he could enjoy it longer. Pulling away from the fluttering rim, he chuckled. 

"Did you suffer memory loss from getting me off? Remember what I said about begging earlier?"

Sam wouldn't insist on Dean begging for real. If he sensed that the urge became too much, he'd be lenient and let Dean cum, but he wouldn't admit it, not without seeing first how far Dean would go. He licked along the crack before his eyes, pausing briefly to tickle the slightly puffy entrance, then repeated the motion starting from Dean's balls until the base of his spine. He still had an iron grip around the probably sore balls, but he loosened his hold and rubbed them gently with his thumb.

"Wanna cum, Baby?" Sam asked, returning the endearment Dean had used earlier.


	6. Chapter 6

"Wanna cum, Baby?" Sam asked, returning the endearment Dean had used earlier.

* * *

"...mmmph!" The use of 'Baby' did weird things to Dean's libido. A wave of lust hit him so strong, as he received Sam's love in the word, but also an echo of those few times he'd crawled into the Impala's back seat and let her hold him, searching after shades of their teenaged love, and she helped him. It had kept him going, till he and Sam had found their way back to each other.

"Fuck yeah, gonna give it to you, gonna give you my cum," Dean gritted out. He took a breath, licked his lips. The fingers of one of Sam's hands spread around his ass cheek as he held him open was more than distracting. He closed his eyes to shut out the lurid reds of their room and gave himself over to the sensations, at last and totally. "Oh gawd, Sam...!" he cried out when something – Sam's thumb – rubbed over his near-breaking balls in gentle circular strokes. "Let me... Please, let me cum!" 

Dean lowered his head, laying his cheek against Sam's flank, just above where it met the upper thigh. Nose to his brother's lax and softened genitals, Dean pushed for his own climax, his lower body taking over with an accelerating grind. God, he loved this, being naked and so turned on, with Sam to attend to his body. The tongue teasing his hole was going to kill him, but he needed more, more, and he rocked himself between Sam's slick little tongue and the firm planes of his chest. "Nng, nngh!" Tight thrusts, a swivel and again – Dean hovered right on the edge. "So close, Sammeeeee..." He keened. 

* * *

Seeing, hearing, feeling Dean so close to the edge would have made Sam hard again on any other day, but the exhaustion from the snake poison had apparently limited him to one shot only. When Dean's rim fluttered around his tongue, Sam felt a surge of relief that he couldn't get it up. Otherwise, he'd have ached for being in his brother again, and he wasn't sure if Dean would want that – no, actually, he was almost convinced that Dean would _not_ want it. In any event, this wasn't the right situation to discuss it, so Sam was glad that his dick didn't make any demands.

Dean was now rubbing so frantically against Sam's chest that Sam had difficulties keeping his tongue where it was needed most. "Gonna let go of your balls," Sam warned his brother, "but you're not going to cum right now, hear me?" He lowered his voice to a raunchy whisper. "I want do something special for you, Dean. Tell me what you need right now. Tell me your secret fantasy."

* * *

Oh, fuck. He should've been ready for this, especially after his Dr. Winchester routine from the previous day, but Dean had also thought it would take Sam longer, maybe several more months, to ask him for such intimate information. "I... No, don't let go. I can't... I'm too close, I'll come," he panted, making himself stop moving just in case. Dean didn't want to disappoint Sam, but he was sure that if his brother released the grip around his balls... "They'll suck right up and I'm done." 

On the other hand, it would get him out of spilling such deeply hidden things to his lover, who totally didn't deserve being the object to that level of filth. Sam didn't relent on either front. The clamp of fingers around his sac was suddenly gone, making Dean feel like he'd been thrown over a cliff only he couldn't – wouldn't – come, because Sam said so. Clenching every muscle in his body, Dean tried to think of unsexy things – discarded shifter skin, a ghoul nest, the port-o-potties at that traveling carnival they'd worked a job at right after Dad died. Any memory of their father tended to cool him off as effectively as a bucket of ice to the groin, but today even that didn't soften him. 

"There's some things you're better off being in the dark about, Sam. Unless you really wanna hear how I..." Dean had to swallow his drool and suspension of disbelief, "oh, shit, I can't believe I'm saying this, sometimes I, uh, fantasize like you're my sister." Sam was going to punch him so hard. "And sometimes you're a chick with a dick." 

* * *

Sam frowned. Dean's confession about secrets wasn't what he'd expected. Sam being a girl? Was Dean making that up because he didn't want to tell the 'real' secret? Suddenly, Sam regretted that he'd asked. Maybe his brother should keep his secrets secret. Sam had intended his question as a turn on, to let Dean tell him what he needed, but the way he'd replied was... not what he'd expected.

In any event, Dean had answered, and he'd – technically – begged, so Sam put both hands on his cheeks and spread them, exposing the rosy entrance and circling it with his tongue. Earlier, his senses had been so focused on his lower body that he hadn't really smelled and tasted Dean. Now, however, he did. Only once before had Dean allowed him to make him cum by licking his hole, and that had been the day Dean had broken up their physical relationship. Last night, Dean had begged to be fucked, and Sam still wasn't sure if that may lead to a meltdown eventually...

Fuck, as so often, Sam noticed he was overthinking things. He was in bed with Dean, who was close to bursting. _That_ was what he should be thinking about, nothing else. And his brother's earlier reply, well, unless Sam insisted – or in all likelihood not even then – Dean would never mention it again. 'Talking' was a no go for the older Winchester.

Sam gave the wet hole another lick, then blew on it and watched it clench. He stabbed his tongue in and his heart beat faster when he heard his brother hiss. After pulling out and thrusting in a few times, Dean's moans told him that things shouldn't be delayed any further: if Dean held back even longer, he wouldn't be able to cum at all.

"That's it," Sam encouraged him. "Fuck my chest and I'll fuck your ass with my tongue until you can't tell up from down. I want you to hold back as long as you can and then tell me when you're there."

He went back to making love to Dean's hole that was fluttering madly, and withdrew for the last time.

"Cum for me, Baby!"

* * *

Sam had nothing to say about Dean's fantasy, not even a grunt of acknowledgment, and Dean had no idea what to make of that. Maybe he took it as a slight against his masculinity. As if! It wasn't the first time they had had a miscommunication, so Dean decided not to worry about it or he'd be in for a bad case of blueballs, and they had other work to do. 

What had his brother been expecting, anyway – whips and chains? Nah, too cliche. Crossdressing? That thing with wolf-dicks that was blowing up all the Internet porn? Watersports? Dean didn't think he could ever tell anyone about that stuff. The girl thing wasn't untrue, per se. It had been a staple of Dean's prior to their first time, when he'd been convinced that Sam as an adult male had no interest in him sexually. It was how his brain had worked around being able to penetrate his brother: make him a sister. Or at least, a female. Another thing about it – the two of them were almost ridiculous in their level of objectification of each other's body's, and he knew it. Their junk, definitely, but also everything from Sam's hair and his tilted eyes to Dean's full, pretty lips and freckles to Sam's killer abs and hipbones to Dean's bow legs. While Dean more than admired 'little Sam', he sometimes imagined all that explosive responsiveness tucked up inside Sam's body, inside rather than outside, so he could fuck into it and fully satisfy. Oh, he could use his hands and mouth but it wasn't the same – like every part of him, Sam's erection was like, _damn!_ There were several inconsistencies between the fantasy and real life. For example, Sam's hole and his prostate were more sensitive than any woman's respective parts. Dean wasn't jealous or insecure about their size difference, he was good at deep-throating by now, and he would totally miss Sam's cock if it was gone. Hence chick!Sam-with-dick. But, lately he'd had little need for any of these variations. 

Well, if Sam brought it up again – in bed – he'd stumble through it then. 

Dean forgot about it the second that hot tongue lapped at his hole, with Sam telling him to rub off against his chest. He'd been so close; resuming the rhythm natural, his body took over. This time, Sam didn't stop, didn't draw it out. With his dick trapped between Sam's pectorals and his own belly, Dean thrust faster and faster. He tried to keep from clenching up but it was impossible! He just needed to ride, ride, ride... let the bump and grind of it flow down his spine and into his hips. Sam prodded and licked, giving him such incredible stimulation. Not long, not long, closer... 

Tingling pressure built in his thighs and lower back, and finally his balls broke and heaved their load while Dean fucked into his own spunk, even as it continued to shoot from him. "Oh my god!" Dean let out a wail like he was being gutted and held onto Sam's thighs, arching up to spray his cream down the long torso. "Gawd! Please! Yes! ...Sammy!" Every shot was punctuated by another cry. 

Even on a good day, he couldn't keep going forever, and Dean spurted himself dry. At the last moment before his strength gave out, he dismounted and flopped onto his back on the mattress. "Ungh. Hurts... so good," he murmured, not quite brain-dead. "You alright, Sam?" 

* * *

For a second, Sam feared he'd ruined it, but then Dean's thrusts took on a different quality: now that he had Sam's permission, Dean seemed to want to make sure he got there before Sam changed his mind again. 

There was already a large collection of fluid on Sam's chest, and Dean slid in it smoothly. Sam matched the rhythm with his tongue, stabbing deeply, and massaged the rim with his thumbs. He couldn't talk to spur his brother on, but Dean didn't need encouragement. Sam could feel him tense up and arch, and then Dean was there, moaning and wailing while his hole clenched and Sam felt the wetness on his chest and belly.

Dean crying out his name while cumming never failed to move Sam's heart. Normally, he'd want to hold his brother afterward, but they'd never had sex in this position before, and he felt too exhausted himself to turn around so he could hug Dean's upper body instead of his waist or – feet. The thought made him giggle.

"Couldn't be better," Sam sighed happily. "Unless we had coffee, of course. Let's get cleaned up and find that IHOP again, shall we?"

* * *

"Coffee and breakfast? Hell, yeah." It still took Dean a minute to come down. Hearing the word 'coffee' set his thoughts in other directions than sex. Coffee meant morning, or being on a job, which they were. Right after their first time together, they'd fumbled their way through a routine poltergeist banishment to the tune matching blueballs and a couple of hurried blowjobs, but beyond that, they never mixed business with pleasure till the business part was definitely over. 

He supposed they could blame the Mega-snake for their 'cravings' this time around. Still, they'd better get their heads in the game. Sam was already in the bathroom cleaning up for a second time and Dean followed, using a washcloth to remove all traces of his spunk then brushing his teeth. He dressed in his second official-looking suit, packed up, and then remembered... Baby was out of commission. He had a minor panic attack over that. Sam's plan would work. They'd rent a car and get Baby fixed up after the hunt was finished. Would a town this size even have a car rental? Only one way to find out. 

The phone book on their shared bedside table turned up a few possibilities. There was only one place that would deliver a vehicle to them, and they were nearly fully booked, meaning that he and Sam were going to either be stuck squished into a mid-sized sedan – tiny, by their standards – or a boat of an SUV that would eat up the funds of their fake cards faster than a losing streak in Vegas. "What do you think, Sam," Dean asked, putting his hand over the phone. "A Ford Focus or a Suburban?" At least it wasn't a minivan. Anything was better than that.

* * *

"A Ford Focus? Are you sure they don't have a Mini or a Smart?" Sam snorted. "Not that I don't like it close and cuddly with you," he winked, "but need I warn you that you'll have to un-kink my back and neck – and very likely my dick, too – if we rent a _fucking Ford Focus."_

He thought for a moment. "Check again if there's a place within walking distance. If you could get face to face with a female clerk, we'll get a nice car for an even nicer price."

* * *

"Um..." Dean flipped the page in the phone book. "We'll keep trying," he said to the guy on the line, and hung up. 

To Sam, he cocked an eyebrow and said, "Not the kind of kinks you want for your dick, huh? If the last two days have anything to say about it, your Johnson is perfectly capable of working out any of its own, um, rumples." He snorted. "Mind out of the gutter, Sammy. Time to kill the monster. After we find a car big enough to hold all of you." He pointedly stared at Sam's crotch, and then turned back to the flimsy paper in his hands.

After a minute, where he flipped to the street map in the middle and back twice, he reported, "There's one rental place that's like half a mile from here. That's gonna suck in these damned dress shoes, but whatever. Now we'll have to trust to luck that there's a chick working." Dean didn't add it could work on a dude, too. Sam always pulled a bitchface whenever he flirted with pretty women. Other than Ash, which had still been out of Sam's line of sight, and they didn't talk about that, Dean had never chatted up a man in Sam's presence. He didn't want to, so he hoped for a woman. "Maybe you'll even get lucky and she'll have some yecky stuff for you... Snake bait," he added, elbowing Sam as he stood up.

* * *

"Dude, thank you so much for ruining my breakfast appetite." Sam shuddered. "How about a change in plans in the form that I chat with the chick – or guy, I'm fine with either – and _you_ go on snake bait duty!"

* * *

"Ew, gross." Dean could feel sweat break out at his temples. His face probably went pasty white. True, he'd bragged to Sam about who was the more adventurous of them, but this was something he could live the rest of his days without. Too bad. He supposed fair was fair. Not wanting his brother to see his weak-stomached reaction, Dean swallowed hard. "If you insist. And if you think you'll have any luck with your smooth operator act. Think you're up to speed?"

Though Dean was ribbing Sam that he couldn't pull, didn't have the skill, it wasn't true. Sam had landed Jess, after all. Most people had a 'type', and Dean wasn't everyone's type. Some preferred their men tall, dark and floppy-haired... and dangerous, whip-smart, touchy-feely and sexy as hell. And they didn't even get to see Sam with his clothes off. Sometimes, Dean hated having to hide what they really were. 

"Breakfast or not, I still need coffee. No motel swill for me. I think there's a Starschmucks along the way." Sam was a sucker for those girlie drinks it took an hour and a half just to order. 

Finally they got out the door, each with a bag of various tools of the trade and weapons. They stopped before leaving the grounds to grab more salt out of Baby's trunk, and the machetes. "Promise you, Baby, I'll make you bad-ass again." Dean had to put his hands on her fender before they left, but he led the way without looking back. 

* * *

"Let's not think – and not _talk_ – about the bait right now," Sam suggested. "Hunting this thing _with_ breakfast is bad enough." Vomiting was easier if there was actually something to puke up, but he didn't say it out loud, didn't have to.

They finished dressing, checked the room to make sure they didn't leave anything that had better not be discovered by the maid, and went out to the car park. Sam didn't know what hurt him more, seeing the Impala bruised and sore, or seeing Dean's pain and misery over her. Hefting their weapon bags and stuff from the trunk, they left the place.

They'd barely covered 100 feet and Sam's mind was already on the venti white chocolate mocha he'd indulge in in a few minutes when he stopped in his tracks and groaned.

"Dean, we're not thinking properly. This is Hicktown, USA. We're strangers carrying large bags. Even with fake ID's, we don't want the fuzz to pick us up. If they searched us and found our 'tools' we'd lose time we don't have to spare. And why should we be lugging all the gear in the first place? Let's leave it with Baby, go get a car, _then_ return here and pick up what we need."

* * *

Dean pursed his lips. What was with him, anyway? This was at least the third time on this hunt Sam had called him on something and it turned out to be correct. "Yeah, fine," he grumbled, not because he liked lugging their crap around, either. 

They returned to Baby and stashed the stuff, then set out again, walking along the road. It couldn't be just lack of caffeine, either. He'd been trained as a hunter for the majority of his life. Was it the sex that had made him sloppy? Leftover effect of the snake slime? Well, he'd better get his head in the game and keep it there. Up ahead, Dean could see the green-and-white logo a few blocks away. Hick town, indeed. They almost always found their jobs in little out of the way places. It was what they knew. Or, supposedly.

This was stupid. He didn't do insecure. Or he kept it deep under wraps. That's what he'd do. There were no cute baristas today, the only one he might have checked out otherwise had nose rings in each nostril and the middle, and one in her eyebrow. Based on the odd shading of her white button-down over her tits, he thought nipple rings as well. Too much. Still, he elbowed Sam. Maybe he'd like to practice for their next stop. 

When they got to the front of the line, Dean ordered the biggest plain coffee they had and waited with Sam for whatever concoction he'd ordered today. 

* * *

In the coffee shop, Dean nudged him, and Sam looked at the girl at the counter. She wore several piercings, which he wasn't into, but maybe Dean was. Sam made a mental note to ask him later. Right now, however, Sam's mind was focused on the job, and that meant he considered women only in terms of their cycles. He immediately pushed the thought aside. There were more important things right now.

He rolled his eyes with delight when he took the first sip of his coffee. It was the one luxury he indulged in. Dean enjoyed winding him up about it, but Sam was ready for it. In addition to the coffee, he'd also bought a white chocolate chip cookie and a banana. Smirking at his unsuspecting brother, he peeled the banana and then slid it as deeply into his mouth as he could without biting down. Dean almost choked, and Sam chomped down on the fruit, giving him an innocent look.

"What?"

* * *

When Sam didn't hit on the barista but was merely polite, Dean shrugged. Not Sam's type either, he supposed. "Hope your skinny latte isn't too foamy, Sam," he cracked. "Although I know how you love your extra froth." Sam blinked, and his mouth moved and his dimples flashed once like he was about to retort, but he said nothing. 

By mutual unspoken agreement, they sat down at the only free table in the place, a round, low to the ground affair bracketed by wooden chairs entirely too dainty for men their size. Dean was about to comment about their dollhouse furniture when Sam, out of nowhere, deep-throated his breakfast banana. The peeled, curved, ivory flesh disappeared, and more, and more, between Sam's pink lips. 

Knees already in his chest from the low elevation of the chair, Dean was suddenly having a hard time breathing. "Nice, dude. You took like six, seven inches. Warn a brother next time!" Dean wheezed, and shifted in his seat, telling himself sternly that it was _not_ a good time to pop a boner.

He glanced around to see who else might have noticed Sam's little performance. If anyone else had seen, his fierce warning look warned them off. Dean hissed at Sam, whose white teeth bit through the fruit, making him wince, "Bad boy, Sammy!" 

Of course, the smug little shit sat there blithely nibbling his cookie, as if nothing had happened. With plain black coffee and no food, Dean didn't have so much as a plastic spoon to lick. He was going to have to get creative. Grabbing Sam's coffee, he took off the lid. "Mm, whipped cream," he whispered, lapping at it. Dean lowered his face to the rim of the paper cup and beyond, making sure to get some of the fluffy white stuff on his lips, raise his head to show it to Sam, and lick it off. "Tasty." 

* * *

When Dean lapped at the frothy cream topping of Sam's mocha, Sam could just about swallow down a loud moan. He should have known that his action would backfire, and it did. Now, what could he do to up the ante? Licking it off Dean's lip was tempting but, as they'd established before, they were in this hick town and they had a job to finish, preferably without attracting too much attention.

"I'll get back to you on this later," he hissed. It was lame, but here and now he couldn't think of a better response unless...

"Just practicing for you," Sam announced sweetly and fluttered his eyelids. 

* * *

"Are you flirting with me or having a seizure?" Dean snorted at Sam's... was he really batting his eyelashes? Yeah, and making puppy-dog eyes, all moony like a high school girl with a crush. For effect, of course. Well, two could play at that.

Surreptitiously adjusting himself under the too-small table first, Dean cleared his throat and straightened his tie. "Alright, alright. Choke down the rest of your banana. Let's get our asses in gear." He stood, sidled around the table, and stood entirely too close to Sam, pretending to be waiting impatiently for him to finish but with his crotch as near to his brother's face as he could get without breaking any public decency laws. That extra thickness under his dress slacks, nothing noticeable to anyone who didn't know him intimately, would be directly in Sam's line of sight the second he noticed Dean hovering. 

* * *

Sam tried to swallow, but almost choked on the banana instead. Dean grinned down at him smugly while Sam coughed and his eyes watered until he finally got himself under control again.

"Only doing literally and exactly what you told me to do," he croaked and took a large sip of coffee to soothe his burning throat. It took another minute until he could finally breathe normally again.

"Okay, asses in gear. Shall we attempt to behave like normal people for once in our lives?"

* * *

"We can try... Good luck," Dean replied sarcastically. His display had done what he wanted – get another reaction, although the banana choking and-or chomping was just wrong. Grabbing his half-full coffee, he headed out the door with Sam following. 

They had to cross the street, which wasn't too busy, since it was already past the hick town version of rush hour. With the humid air pressing in on him, probably exacerbated by hot coffee, Dean was sweating in his black suit by the time they reached the rental office; Sam looked like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, interesting as he'd been doing very dirty things with that mouth not long ago. It was just as well he was the one to chat up the clerk. Although Dean's eventual job was going to be less pleasant.

He almost burst out laughing when he saw who was at the counter. If Sam had one sticky area, one demographic that made him uncomfortable, it was cougars – not the 35-year-old soccer mom type, but the female version of silver fox. The woman did not conjure up the image of sweet little old lady at all; the words 'pervy grandma' came to mind, from the way the old bird's eyes were running all the way up and all the way down his brother's frame. 

"Well, go on there, Sammy. Talk to the nice lady," Dean prompted.

* * *

If looks could kill, Dean would have dropped dead the moment Sam saw the woman behind the counter. Then again, if looks could kill they wouldn't need a rental car in the first place because Sam could have dropped the snake with a single glance. 

Sam smiled sweetly at his brother. "Maybe, when we have a car, the nice lady can help you out with your _acquisition_ ," he offered before turning to the rental car agent.

"Ma'am," he began cheerfully, "my brother and I would like to rent a car."

The expression on the woman's face said clearly that he was stating the obvious and Dean looked as if he could barely hold himself upright, but Sam didn't let himself be deterred. 

* * *

Dean jumped in, "Either a full-sized sedan like the Crown Vic, or an SUV like a Pilot or Sequoia. As you can see, a sub-compact isn't going to work. Although, I'd take the silver Audi I saw out there, though, if we – I mean Sam – can get a good deal." 

Oops. He coughed, smiled sweetly, and gestured at his brother, who was about to melt him into raw bits with that death-glare bitchface of his. The suggestion that this old broad was going to provide them with 'bait' nearly had him breaking into hysterical giggles. Sam was really funny when he was pissed. 

* * *

Grinning to himself, Sam watched the woman stand straighter and suck in her belly when Dean spoke. There'd never be an end to jokes on MILFS and girls with bifocals – or even GMILFS and trifocals – but it looked as if Dean would be the one on the receiving end now, not Sam. The price would be, of course, that Sam had to raid the women's restrooms again, but although he hadn't exactly enjoyed it the night before, he'd had worse in his life.

The woman turned to Dean and agreed with a honeyed voice, "No, of course a sub-compact isn't going to work for you and... Sam. I'm so sorry," she blinked, "but that Audi is unavailable, it needs to be repaired. But," she leaned closer to Dean and whispered, "I can offer you a good deal on an Impala."

* * *

Oh, good grief. Usually the MILFs and especially the GMILFs went for Sam since he put out that sincere, honest, well-mannered touchy-feely vibe. Well, that was just Sam, anyway. Dean was blunt, borderline rude when it suited him, and more stand-off-ish but some liked the challenge, and he knew what he looked like. Knowing Sam was going to mess with him about it later, Dean resigned himself to play this out. 

"Impala, huh? What year, sweetheart?" he smiled and winked a little. Baby wasn't going to like this. Not at all. It gave an entirely too literal meaning to the phrase, 'next year's model'. 

"It's a 2007, less than 10,000 miles. I'll give you the sub-compact rate, though, since we're fresh out of those. Only $19.95 a day. Plus mileage, deposit, and optional insurance, of course." Grandma leaned forward so Dean got a harrowing look down her leathery cleavage, like it or not. 

_"Or not!"_ his mind screamed. Dean gulped. "That's a bargain." Baby would have to forgive him. The newer generation were probably eunuchs by comparison, anyway. He wasn't going to stand around and haggle with this, this... The woman was totally ignoring Sam now, giving Dean a visual assessment below the belt that made him feel slightly unclean. When she raised her eyes to his face again, she smiled, showing off laugh lines like tilled earth. Well, at least she was happy. 

He pulled out his wallet. "Sold. Where do I sign?" 

* * *

Dean signed and they left the office. On the way to the car, Dean didn't say a word. Sam was torn between admiring his brother or laughing his ass off, but he remained silent, too. To his relief, the 2007 Impala was cherry red, not black, which might make things a little easier for Dean – Sam hadn't missed the misery on his face when the old hag had offered them an Impala. He was even more relieved that Dean had taken the additional insurance: if their next encounter with the snake went anything like the previous one, a thick coat of paint would be called for. Sam shuddered, hoping fervently that their next step would rid them of the snake once and forever, and without close contact.

Once they sat in the car, Dean took a long time looking at the cockpit and everything, the deep frown never leaving his face. Sam put his hand on Dean's thigh. "You're my hero," he said, and it was nothing but the truth. "I couldn't have done that."

He pressed the firm muscle under his hand lightly. "Baby will understand."

* * *

Hero? Dean hadn't indulged in calling himself that since he was 17, and it had blown up in his face. "Oh, you could have done it," he insisted, comforted by the large, warm hand on his leg. "Just gotta remember those old gals need love, too. And then shut your eyes." 

"Yeah, Baby... Hope you're right," Dean muttered. It was mostly him that had the problem. While considered full-sized, the modern Impala still felt cramped. The interior was way smaller than Baby's, with generic, cloth seats. There was no chrome on it, no fin or ground effects. And a stock stereo. Cherry red or not, it was still a boring family car. Geez. Tight-lipped, he drove back to the motel. The thing had no balls, either. V6, his baby-smooth ass. 

They grabbed the bags from earlier, and stashed them in the trunk with their weapons. "Well, we don't have any bait," he stated the obvious. "Any suggestions?" 

* * *

"Yep, one suggestion," Sam replied. "Breakfast. And then same procedure as last night after dinner. You distract the waitress while I go get the bait." He couldn't help adding, "Maybe you're lucky and she's younger than the gal at the car rental."

* * *

"Didn't we just have coffee? The banana wasn't enough for you?" Dean shrugged sheepishly. "Fine by me. I lost my appetite before, but now I'm hungry again." He turned the rental car on to the main drag in the direction of the IHOP, sparing one glance at Baby in the rearview. 

The popular restaurant would have much heavier traffic than the car rental place, and much better chances for Sam when he went to do his 'job' again. How relieved was Dean, that his brother had shifted the earlier agreed-upon task back to himself? Maybe he thought Dean had sufficiently taken one for the team from the GMILF, make that GMIWNLF. Parking the rental, Dean strolled over to the door and held it open for Sam. 

* * *

"No, the banana hasn't, um, sated me," Sam said with a wide grin. "I think I'll have some sausages."

He turned serious. "Okay. We have a car now, and we'll have bait soon. We're good on weapons, but where are we gonna find enough salt? I was thinking road salt, but I doubt that this region has enough snow or ice for anyone to sell the stuff, and we'll need lots of it."

The 'waitress' was a man in his thirties and they ordered. When the man had left, Sam spoke again. "And then there's the question of trapping the thing. I might have an idea there." 

Dean perked up at that, and Sam elaborated. "Since we considered that fire might work, maybe we can use it to distract the snake. If it shares the heat sense organ normal snakes have, we could soak the shore with a ring of, dunno, oil, gas, accelerant, whatever around the, um, bait. Then, when the snake goes for it, we ignite the ring. If we're lucky, the heat will blind or at least confuse it. That'd give us a chance at pouring the salt on it and lopping its head off. What do you think?"

* * *

"Sausage? I'll give you sausage with cream gravy when this is all over," Dean smirked. 

Once seated, and food ordered – short stack, bacon and eggs – he mulled over Sam's proposed snake-offing plan. "Salt, well, we have some already from Baby's trunk. You really think we need more? We only have so many hands. So maybe we should divide the duties. First, we make the ring. You thrown down the bait in the center, I'll fire up the gas or whatever while you toss the salt on that motherfucker, and then I'll go in for the kill. You'd better carry a machete, too, though, just in case. What do you say?" 

Dean kept his voice down, lest they be heard. He was starting to get that pre-hunt adrenaline edginess. Waiting for their food to arrive, he ran his finger around and around the rim on his juice glass. 

* * *

Sam's throat turned dry as he watched Dean's hand fingering the rim of the juice glass. Just like he would finger the rim of his... Sam blushed, then he coughed and quickly turned his mind to bait duty. It helped.

"I'm not leaving the car without a machete, but I'll also carry a shovel for the salt. Even _my_ hands may not be large enough. So yes, we should have as much salt as we can get. Better safe than sorry. Let's check out the local stores. Maybe we can round up a few buckets of it – which, by the way, would make it even easier to throw the stuff on the snake."

The waiter brought their food and coffee. As soon as he'd left, Sam sprinkled salt on a sausage, then cut one of the ends off. "Die, motherfucker!"

* * *

Dean agreed heartily, "Here, here!" and dug into his pancakes after dumping maple syrup on the stack. He was about to comment about playing with food, but Sam's savage cutting up of the sausages deterred him. Someone else's blood was up, too. 

They were only guessing about the salt, but he'd try whatever. It would be satisfying to see the thing shrivel up and die rather than have to kill it in close quarters. For sure, he didn't want either of them to get hit with another dose of the super-Viagra in its slime. "We can raid the local grocery stores. Doubt they have rock salt, we're too far south, but we can clean out the salt from the baking aisles." Dean was a little embarrassed to have outed himself in the knowledge of such a section. Most of the time, he'd admit to being able to locate beer, frozen food, pie, and automotive supplies. Maybe, like, cereal or mac-and-cheese. And of course, anything specific to hunting. Sam wasn't the only one who'd 'spied on' components of normal family life, though. Especially around holidays, when other kids went on about homemade cookies and candy. He added, "They oughta have buckets, too." Their grave-digging shovels were still stashed in Baby's trunk. Looked like they'd have to swing by yet again. 

"If we're going to make more stops before heading out to the lake, let's skip the bait gathering the till last." Dean left it at that, hoping Sam wouldn't make him elaborate. Finally the bill arrived and he stood up to go pay. "I'm gonna hit the head on the way out. Starbucks..." Making a face, Dean headed off. No use tempting fate with a full bladder in the face of a monster. 

* * *

"I'll go later when I pick up the yuck." Sam watched Dean go and take care of his business. It took only a few minutes until they were on the road again. 

They were lucky to find a shop that sold salt in large quantities: apparently, iced roads were rare in this part of the country, but not unheard of. Sam bought two 50-pound bags. Dean rolled his eyes, but Sam didn't care. After tonight, they wouldn't need to stay under the radar any longer. Either they'd have offed the snake and were half-way to South Dakota, or... he didn't linger on the alternative.

Dean found cheap plastic buckets and Sam took half a dozen. Maybe it was overkill, but he suddenly had the image of throwing salt over himself and Dean to make them unappetizing for the snake if it came to the worst.

The shop had restrooms. After they'd stowed their loot in the car – Sam refused to think of it as an Impala – he pulled a grimace. "I guess it's time for, you know. D'you need another wee or are you ready for a speedy take-off?"

* * *

"Lucky for me, we're guys. I can stop at the side of the road if I have to." Sam tended to be too prissy for that, even for _Dean_ to do that, and Dean flashed a grin. "Go do your thing and I wait out in the Im- uh, car." They'd found everything they needed in one stop, lucky them for the first likely place being like a smaller local version of a Walmart. 

After stowing their loot, he left the trunk open a crack and pulled up in front of the door, letting the thing idle. Baby's comforting – and loud – purr was totally absent. If Dean didn't have some limited experience in fixing more modern cars, thanks to Bobby on a couple of occasions, he could barely tell it was running. Then speaking of... Sam hurried out of the door, deposited something Dean didn't take a good look at in the trunk, slammed it closed, and jumped in, motioning for him to take off. Flooring it, Dean rolled his eyes at the 0-to-60 in 20 type response and struck out in the direction of their motel, and the lake. 

* * *

"Not that I want to talk about it," Sam began once they were on their way, "but I acquired more of, um, _it,_ this time. And what I want to mention even less, but have to, you saw the snake last night, didn't you? When it... attacked... Baby... How large do you recommend we make the fire ring?"

* * *

The memories weren't exactly Dean's favorite things; it was almost surprising he hadn't had a nightmare about one or both experiences, or an amalgamated dream-version. 

He tried to think calmly about Sam's question. They'd already almost screwed the pooch by being unprepared and freaking out. "Well, the snake's huge, and fast. When it got me in the water, it was looped around me several times, and last night it was over the top of the car but plenty of it was still on the ground. It's gotta be 30, 35 feet long. So we'd better make the circle that diameter. And put the yuck closer to the edge away from the water." 

* * *

"That's hundred feet of fire line," Sam mused. "We won't be able to transport enough gas for that, in particular not if we want the fire to last more than just a few seconds. It's still early. Let's drive around and see if we find a place on the shore with an enclosure, ideally something like a walled-in horseshoe, so we'd only have to create a line to trap the thing. Standing on a wall would also make it easier to throw the salt."

He reached for his laptop case. "I'll try google maps, see if I can find anything useful like a u-shaped structure."

* * *

"Hundred feet? Fine, geek out on me," Dean grumped, doing the conversion of pi more slowly in his head. "Yeah, about that. We'll need a cliff to keep the snake from crawling up to get us. At least 20 feet high... Maybe you're right and we can find some like that around the other side of the lake – there's too much civilization here – everyone wants a beach-front cabin." 

They stopped to pick up shovels, and Dean once again grimaced at Baby's ruined paint. Not much he could do yet, though. He also grabbed their two spare gas cans, and bottles of lighter fluid. As always, he had his Zippo in his pocket. "We have salt, buckets, shovels, weapons, shit to start fires with once we stop to fill up these gas cans, and bait. That should do it." Dean got in the car again and put it in gear, half expecting Sam to remind him what he'd forgotten. "Other than, if you want to roast marshmallows when we're done." 

* * *

"Roast marshmallows?" Sam snorted. "Nah, we can do that back up North with Bobby when we celebrate Baby's recovery. Seriously, we don't want to stay around. The fire will be visible from quite a distance, and unless we want to explain what we're doing we'd better fuck off as quickly as possible."

Dean pulled up at a gas station and went to fill the canisters. Meanwhile, Sam thought buying marshmallows may serve to cheer them up after the battle. Then he saw the various items the shop sold, and another idea came to him.

When he returned to the car, Dean was looking at him impatiently. Sam took the passenger seat and grinned. "I thought it might be good to protect our mouths and noses from the slime, so I bought masks. And these are Teflon-coated, should help some with the fire and acid." 

He held out two aprons to his glaring brother and winced. Not that he blamed Dean, the ridiculous figure on the apron – a fat cook surrounded by sausages – wasn't improved by the lettering in screaming colors declaring the wearer to be the 'BBQ King'.

"Yeah, I know," Sam muttered and nudged Dean's elbow, "but at least nobody will witness us wearing these. Think of it this way: maybe the snake will laugh itself to death when it sees us."

* * *

"Wow, Sam. Just wow." Dean pulled his own version of bitchface at the sight of Sam's... purchases. "The masks, I get but..." He snorted. Sure, the silly aprons might save their clothes, possibly keep some slime off them. Never in his wildest, most unspeakable domesticated dreams would he have considered one of those. Whatever. In a way, in was Winchester improvisation, using the materials at hand. Even if they were kitschy aprons. 

Silently, he drove the now-familiar road to the lake, going past the site of the previous run-ins. They drove for another half-hour, while Dean flipped through channels on the radio and Sam consulted his online map. On the opposite shore, the ground rolled more, and the road was farther from shore. At least they saw a sign reading, 'Salt Cliffs, 0.5 miles' with an arrow pointing to their left, and Dean turned. "Sounds promising." 

The road ended in a gravel turn-around, abandoned other than them. It wasn't far to the edge of the drop-off, which had a sturdy fence in front of it. Dean climbed over. There was a steep path down, likely made over the years by kids. Below, just a narrow strip of sand, not the enclosure they were looking for. Off to his right, were more cliffs, the landscape by no means even. "There," he pointed. "Let's get back to the road and see if there's another approach. I don't want to have to lug everything all the way over there if I don't have to." 

They were in luck, but in the end, it was still a short hike and a slide on their asses down the steep embankment, and it took three trips. Dirty and sweaty, Dean surveyed the half-moon shaped cove. "I'll lay down the fire line." He looked up to see Sam putting on his apron, and grinned. "You know, 'Sausage King' would be more accurate." 

* * *

Sam found a suitable location on his computer at the same time as Dean saw the sign to the Salt Cliffs. After some searching, they found the perfect place, a kind of bowl with steep walls on three sides. Dean immediately began to prepare the fire line to trap the monster, and, of course, didn't refrain from a comment on Sam's apron.

"Let's just say I'd rather hide my sausage than risk having my pants soaked with snake spit," Sam replied and grinned. "Besides, if you find it so scary, you can always wear yours inside out."

He started lugging the salt bags and buckets down from the road and made a few mental notes. The path was steep, so preparing a rope would come in handy if things didn't go as planned. There was also that the walls were too high for beheading the snake from the top. They might have to reconsider the machetes.

Suddenly, his heart lurched when he saw a ripple ghosting over the lake's surface. When the snake had gotten to Dean the first time, Dean had just been standing by the shore, hadn't he? Sam opened his mouth to shout out a warning to his brother when the ripple faded. It had probably just been the wind, but Sam ran down to Dean and pulled him away from the waterfront.

"Let's finish everything else first, then the fire line. Our plan won't work if the snake sniffs us out before we're ready, and right now you're so close to the water that it makes my skin crawl."

* * *

Sam's instincts kicking in, making him hurry to Dean's side and haul him away from the water's edge, were impressive. In two seconds, he transformed from goofy, apron-wearing little brother to intimidating, protective hulk of a hunter. Some strange hyper-aware shock skimmed down Dean's body, leaving all his hairs standing on end and his groin abuzz. 

"The snake seemed to like my scent before, and you probably have trace amounts of bait-smell on your hands, so yeah... We'd better hurry. I'm getting the heebie-jeebies." Dean set the buckets out in a line, ripped open a bag of salt and poured. This time, he kept an eye on the lake. Sam had acted like there was something out there, something close. "Let's scatter the rest of this salt on the ground, where it'll have to go over it to get the bait." 

He picked up a machete in its sheath and strapped it on. "There's not much here for natural fuel, just some driftwood, old grasses, a few scraggly bushes. Even a typical salt and burn has a coffin, usually." Once again, their plans were going awry. "The cliff's too tall to get close if we're up there, unless we shoot it. The fire won't be all the way around it now, and that was my coup de grace. I think it's going to have to be hand-to hand... er, hand to... Dammit, snakes don't even have limbs!" 

* * *

"Good idea," Sam nodded when Dean suggested salting the ground, too. They needed good ideas: not finding any fuel for the fire made their plan riskier, so every thought that helped was a point in their favor.

"Tell you what, we can still close the gap in the fire line if we're careful. When the snake attacked you before, you weren't watching the shore, right? So if one of us keeps a close look at the water, the other could pour more gas. Oh, and I'm keeping a bucket of gas ready to throw on the snake as well. The fire should take care of its sensors, and if it works, we might still attempt to cut its head of in, well, hand-to-tongue combat." Sam shuddered.

"And you're probably going to hate me for even suggesting this, but... Wait here for a sec – _and don't go anywhere near the water!"_ Dean would understand that the warning was issued from concern, not because Sam considered his brother suicidal or irresponsible.

He ran up the cliff and opened the trunk of the car. For some quirk of fate, Dean had brought a box in which Sam knew his brother treasured a vinyl 10" 78 rpm record, an original from 1937, of Robert Johnson performing 'Hellhound on my trail'. Sam thought it was keepsake from a hunt some time ago that Dean considered a lucky charm. With the idea he had in mind, it might indeed turn out to be a lucky charm – it could save their lives.

"Here," he shouted when he approached the almost finished snake pit and showed the record to Dean. "It's heavy and has sharp edges. The shape makes aiming and throwing it easy, and since it's flat it'll fly far and maintain its momentum. I'm confident that I can cut the snake's throat from a safe distance with this." 

Sam held up his hand in a placating gesture. "Only as a last resort," he explained soothingly. 

* * *

"Snake tongue, ick!" After at least three 'don't go near the water's, Dean humored Sam and backed up, shaking and spreading the remainder of the salt from the second bag onto the ground as he went. "I'll keep an eye out, you hurry," he called after Sam. The wind picked up a little, reminiscent of the other night just before the snake surprise-attacked him.

A moment later, his brother reappeared at the top of the cliff. "What? You're gonna frisbee it to death??" Dean stared, perplexed, as Sam slid back down the steep incline with one of his few worldly valuables in hand. What in the hell had possessed him to grab it? He didn't even remember doing so. Perhaps it had just been their training to not leave anything important in an unsecured location. Shaking his head, Dean decided it was relative; he'd rather lose the record than Baby or Sam. Still, the very idea was pretty 'out there'. Yes, the disc was heavy and sturdy, but Dean wasn't so sure the edge could cut through the snake's scales and hide deep enough to kill it, despite Sam saying so. 

"Did you bring the bait?" he asked. "Time to summon Snakey." Could be the snake was miles away, but it had already gone right for him, and then them, twice, and he was getting twitchier the longer they waited. Sam had, and he brandished the white plastic bag. "I'm gotta get close to the fire line and then you dump that out," he suggested, moving toward the lake again, lighter at the ready. He took the last bottle of lighter fluid and stood to the side, prepared to close the gap in the line after the snake went past – assuming it appeared – and fire it up. 

* * *

"I got the bait," Sam held up his hand with the plastic bag. He was standing between buckets of salt and there was another bucket filled with gas, too. He wished they had a flame thrower; maybe they should build one when they were at Bobby's, but now was not the time to let himself be distracted by future plans. "Ready when you are."

Sam waited until Dean got into position – close to the gap in the fire line, but hidden behind a boulder. They could only hope that the snake would be drawn to the bait rather than follow Dean's scent, but maybe they were, for once, lucky. Otherwise, they'd both go down fighting. With the adrenalin building up in his system, the thought didn't bother him as much as it should have.

"Dropping the bait... now." Sam held his breath before he ripped the bag open, registering the fleeting thought that they had something in common with the snake after all; they all hated the stink of used menstrual supplies – who wouldn't.

He emptied the vile contents on the ground 20 feet below, fixated his eyes on the water, and waited. For about half a minute, nothing happened. Then, before he could even finish the thought how long the snake would need to appear if it was on the other side of the lake, the water exploded and it was there.

Despite the distance, Sam gasped. The thing was _huge_. Dean's estimate of about 30 feet was good, but the black scaly skin gave it an aura of death that was immediately multiplied when the stench hit Sam's nostrils. 

The monster didn't hesitate at the entrance to the horseshoe but went straight for the bait.

* * *

They didn't have to wait long. Sam climbed up the cliff and tossed the bait over the side. Dean's heart thumped several times and then the water roiled with the same sound he'd heard before and the snake exploded out of it, traveling almost too fast to follow. The smell hit him and he swallowed hard, sprang up from behind the rock he'd been hiding behind, emptied the lighter fluid and squatted down to flick his lighter. The spark caught on some dry grasses he'd dragged over. A second later, there was a 'whoomp' sound as all of the accelerant lit up in one massive combustion. Dean jumped away. It had singed some of the hairs on his arm but nothing else. 

Then he whirled around to face the monster and his eyes widened. It was writhing on the ground, attacking the supplies Sam had tossed again and again, mouth open and its head thumping the ground. The thing was even larger than he remembered, the thickest part of the body bigger around than his waist, rippling with a combination of muscle, murky black-green scales, and shiny slime. It looked like a harbinger of death – no wonder people were dropping like flies. He pulled out his machete, a reflex, and the thing hissed, the sound filling his ears. 

It swung around and rose up like a cobra to face him. Dean froze almost trancelike in its stare for a second, then he yelled and swung, trying to move closer to the cliff again. Where salt had touched it, in several uneven spots, it was smoking, and the slime seemed to be falling off onto the ground faster than normal. "Sam, the salt!" he screamed, retreating backwards and hacking at the snake's face and throat. 

That only succeeded in making it madder. Several hundred pounds of angry monster lunged at him and Dean jumped aside, moving back again, thinking to draw it to the bottom of the cliff. It moved almost faster than he could see and whipped around, striking at him again. "Saaaammm!" Dean was right under where Sam had to be standing. He retreated a few more steps, recalling Sam had a bucket of gas up there as well as salt. No way did he want to get hit with that. 

* * *

Shit, Dean was really doing his best to get himself killed down there. It wasn't how Sam had expected things to proceed: Dean was supposed to stay outside the trap and wait until Sam had thrown the salt and, hopefully, set the snake on fire. Only then should Dean enter, jump the fire barrier that by then would have become negotiable thanks to lack of fuel. They really needed to improve on their planning of details. Hopefully, this was still an after-effect of the poison...

While musing, he started pouring the salt and the snake immediately turned its attention to him. Where the salt hit, the skin began to bubble and blister. Sam managed to cover a large part of the monster, then he emptied the gas bucket out over the thing's head and tossed down a match.

The roaring of the snake drowned out any other sound, but Dean didn't need Sam's encouraging scream to go after it _now._

* * *

A cloud of white grains – the salt – rained over the cliff, then a second batch. Both landed right where Saw had aimed, pretty much covering, or coating, the snake since it stuck to its slime. The hissing and spitting increased several notches, which Dean, now well back and trying to catch his breath interpreted as pain. A large splash of amber liquid followed – gas – and a match. The flames caught somehow. 

Dean didn't think snakes could scream, but that's what it sounded like. Sam was yelling down at him to move in for the kill, but Dean didn't dare get close with the lightening-fast coiling and uncoiling and writhing of its entire flaming length all around the horseshoe-shaped area. The stench of roasting meat and burning slime, like raw sewage, clogged his nose. The snake could have been trying to shake off the flames, or the salt, but it was so grotesque and nightmarish that Dean found himself scrambling up the cliff one-handed to stand by Sam, panting heavily and trying not to puke. "I'll go after it... if it looks like it'll get away, but... I think you got it good," he wheezed. The torturous efforts below seemed to be slowing.

* * *

Sam watched the monster writhe, and then the idea hit him that maybe it wasn't evil after all. A freak of nature, yes, but that didn't mean it deserved to die such a horrible death. 

Dean stood next to him, looking down the trap, waiting for it to be over, when Sam made his decision. Grabbing his machete, he ran along the cliff to where it lowered, and jumped into the pit.

The stench made him gag, and the thrashing suggested that this was a really stupid idea, but it was too late to change his mind.

Sam took a step forward and chopped the snake's head off with a single strike. Just when he thought he was safe, the snake's tail, going limp in death, hit him in the middle of his chest. The world went black.

* * *

Sam suddenly took off, running a few yards around the edge of the cliff, then plunging down into the bowl. Dean noticed too late to grab him and stop him, so he followed. What else was he supposed to do? Let Sam get hit with the monster or its slime? 

His brother waded in and, machete flashing, chopped off the head, but like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off, that didn't stop the rest of it from continuing to flail wildly. Just when Dean though the death tremors were over, the tail fell against Sam and he went down hard. 

"Shit, shit, shit!!" Before anything else, Dean kicked the half-burned... extremity... off Sam's midsection and away. He knelt in the sand by Sam, shaking his shoulder a little. His breathing was shallow, but steady. No blood was visible; if he'd struck his head on a rock or something, it could be under him. "Hey... Hey, Sammy, wake up... Can you hear me?" If he had to pick Sam up and carry him, it was almost certain he'd get more slime on himself. The apron seemed to have spared Sam the worst of it, something his brother would never let him forget, no doubt. While he waited to see if Sam came around, Dean pulled his own sleeves down over his hands and worked on getting the apron off, cutting the tied strings with his boot knife so he wouldn't have to roll him.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean's worried face hovering over him. His chest hurt and breathing was an effort. "Is it dead?" he rasped and coughed, wincing when the pain in his chest increased.

Concentrating on breathing, Sam could tell that Dean was annoyed at him but no longer worried. "I didn't want it to suffer," he tried to explain with a still hoarse voice. "Feels as if I got kicked by a horse, but I should be glad it didn't catch me in the nuts." He managed a weak chuckle. Judging from Dean's expression, his brother didn't consider the remark funny.

"Sorry, man. I wasn't thinking. Maybe there really is some snake poison left in us, but that should fade eventually. Main thing is, it's dead, and we can finally leave."

Sam smiled. "Time to look after Baby. Gimme a hand here?"

Dean helped him up. Together, they gathered their scattered belongings and returned to the car.

* * *

"As a doornail," Dean replied when Sam asked for confirmation the snake was dead. "I only hope it's the only one. People should find the remains of this, if by the stench alone, so they'll be aware there is – or was – something out there."

He almost scoffed at Sam's confession of not wanting the monster to suffer. But he reigned himself back. It had hurt them, he supposed, what with the chemical that made him inhumanly horny and Sam having to bear the brunt of it, but hadn't really tried to kill them till they went after it. So he didn't comment. Other than to say, "I'd have to kill it a second time if it had hurt your balls." Second killing, not second from him. Technicalities. 

Once Sam could walk, they picked up the scattered items: shovels, buckets, weapons, and even his antique record that Sam hadn't used – Dean still was confused over that idea of a long-distance beheading, but if Sam wanted to blame their less than stellar performance on the poisons, he'd go with that, as well. 

Finally! They were on the road again. At the motel, they tossed all their gear into Baby's trunk, and Dean followed Sam back to the car rental place. Already he was more relaxed, driving in his Baby, not that lame-ass excuse for an Impala. Once they reached a highway, he breathed a sigh of relief – for the time being – pointed the car northwest, and put the pedal down.


End file.
